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Uniform  with  this  Volume. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  AGES. 

FIRST  SERIES. 

Being  SelecStions  from  Lyra  Catholica,  Germanica,  Apof- 

’  tolica,  and  other  Sources.  With  an  Introdu6fion  by  Rev. 

F.  D.  Huntington,  D.  D.  Fifth  Edition.  One  volume. 

\ 

Price  fi.oo. 

P'ine  editions  of  this  work,  the  Firft  and  Second  Series, 
printed  upon  large  paper,  and  bound  in  bevelled  boards. 
Price  $3.00  each. 


TICKNOR  AND  FIELDS. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  AGES. 


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HYMNS  OF  THE  AGES. 


SECOND  SERIES. 


BEING 


SELECTIONS  FROM  WITHER,  CRASHAW,  SOUTHWELL, 
HABINGTON,  AND  OTHER  SOURCES. 


BOSTON: 

TICKNOR  AND  FIELDS. 

M  DCCC  LXII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  i860, 

By  Ticknor  and  Fields, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 
Stereotyped  and  Printed  by 

H.  O.  HOUGHTON. 


PREFACE. 


HE  favor  with  which  the  first  series  of 


-1-  Hymns  of  the  Ages  was  received,  has  led 
us  to  prepare  a  second,  including,  with  hymns 
of  a  like  character,  many  others  which  the  plan 
of  that  forced  us  unwillingly’  to  reject. 

For  the  previous  volume  we  sought  such  utter¬ 
ances  as  in  their  gentle  mysticism  embodied  a 
religious  sentiment^  fitted  to  console  and  soothe, 
to  bind  up  broken  reeds :  in  the  present,  our  pur¬ 
pose  being  rather  to  strengthen  the  reeds  that  they 
may  not  break,  and  haply  bend  them  into  use,  — 
we  have  given  with  less  sentiment,  more  religious 
thought. 

Because  both  of  their  obscurity  and  striking 
merit,  large  selections  are  presented  from  verse- 


6844:19 


writers  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries, 
“  from  the  tender  and  earnest  numbers  of  South- 
well  and  Crashaw  and  Habington,”  the  gentle 
symphonies  of  Vaughan,  the  rugged  verse  of 
Donne  and  Jeremy  Taylor,  from  the  quaint 
“  Church  Emblems  ”  of  Quarles,  and  the  volumi¬ 
nous  “  Hallelujah  ”  of  Wither,  which  touched 
with  a  poetic  glow  each  object  of  every-day  life. 

For  the  rest,  we  have,  like  the  householder, 
brought  together  things  “  new  and  old :  ”  some 
of  the  latter  we  must  thank  the  German  writers 
for  pafling  on  to  us,  and  Miss  Winkworth  and 
others  for  translating.  We  are  also  indebted  to 
the  compilers  of  a  little  Scottish  Hymn  Book, 
which,  when  we  discovered  the  two  worn  vol¬ 
umes,  had  been  through  a  score  of  editions  at 
Edinburgh. 

Choosing  irrespective  of  creed,  we  have  been 
often  guided  by  rare  and  deep  associations  of  the 
past;  hymns  there  are  here  which  have  been 
breathed  by  dying  lips,  traced  on  the  walls  of 
prisons,  sung  with  hushed  voices  in  catacombs, 
or  joyfully  chanted  on  the  battle-march,  or  fear¬ 
lessly  at  the  stake. 


Preface. 


Vll 


The  poet  Robert  Southwell,  when  in  prison 
awaiting  martyrdom  nearly  three  hundred  years 
ago,  wrote  thus  to  his  friend  :  “  W e  have  sung 
the  canticles  of  the  Lord  in  a  strange  land,  and 
in  this  desert  we  have  sucked  honey  from  the 

rock,  and  oil  from  the  hard  stone ;  but  ” - 

“We  now  sow  the  seed  with  tears,  that  others 
hereafter  may  with  joy  carry  in  the  sheaves  to 
the  heavenly  granaries.” 

The  martyr’s  prophecy  has  seemed  to  us  near¬ 
ing  accomplishment,  as  in  the  course  of  our 
pleasant  labor,  we  have  gone  back  gleaning  these 
precious  handfuls  which  the  years  let  fall. 

C.  s.  w. 

A.  E.  G. 

Roxbury^  July,  i860. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


ASPIRATION .  I 

VIRTUE .  8 

TRUE  GAIN .  15 

LOVE .  25 

ACTIVE  DUTY .  42 

SAINTS .  64 

CONTENTMENT .  74 

TRUST .  93 

AFFLICTION .  II3 

PATIENCE .  133 

PRAYER .  152 

CHRIST .  179 

GOD .  209 

DEATH .  235 

HEAVEN .  279 

MISCELLANEOUS .  297 


HYMNS  OF  THE  AGES. 


ASPIRATION. 


THE  OFFERING. 


They  gave  to  Thee 

Myrrh,  frankincense  and  gold  ; 

But,  Lord,  with  what  fhall  we 
Present  ourselves  before  thy  majefty, 

Whom  Thou  redeemedft:  when  we  were  sold  ? 
We’ve  nothing  but  ourselves,  and  scarce  that  neither; 
Vile  dirt  and  clay  ; 

Yet  it  is  soft  and  may 
Impreffion  take. 

Accept  it.  Lord,  and  say,  this  Thou  hadft  rather ; 
Stamp  it,  and  on  this  sordid  metal  make 
Thy  holy  image,  and  it  fhall  outfhine 
The  beauty  of  the  golden  mine.  Amen. 

'Jeremy  Taylor.  1650. 


2 


Aspiration. 


PEACE. 

My  soul,  there  is  a  countrie 
Afar  beyond  the  ftars, 

Where  ftands  a  winged  sentrie 
All  Ikilfull  in  the  wars. 

There,  above  noise  and  danger. 

Sweet  Peace  sits  crown’d  with  smiles. 

And  One  born  in  a  manger 
Commands  the  beauteous  files. 

He  is  thy  gracious  friend 
And  (O  my  soul,  awake  !) 

Did  in  pure  love  descend. 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 

If  thou  canft  get  but  thither. 

There  growes  the  flowre  of  peace. 

The  rose  that  cannot  wither. 

Thy  fortrelTe,  and  thy  ease. 

Leave,  then,  thy  foolifh  ranges  ; 

For  none  can  thee  secure 
But  One,  who  never  changes. 

Thy  God,  thy  Life,  thy  Cure. 

Henry  Vaughan.  1621—1695. 


Aspiration. 


3 


OLOVE  divine,  how  sweet  thou  art! 
When  fhall  I  find  my  willing  heart 
All  taken  up  by  thee  ? 

I  thirfi:,  and  faint,  and  die  to  prove. 

The  greatnefs  of  redeeming  love,  — 

The  love  of  Chrifi:  to  me. 

He  only  knows  the  love  of  God  ; 

O  that  it  now  were  fhed  abroad 
In  this  poor  ftony  heart ! 

For  love  I  figh,  for  love  I  pine  ; 

This  only  portion.  Lord,  be  mine  ; 

Be  mine  this  better  part. 

O  that  I  could  forever  fit. 

With  Mary,  at  the  Mailer’s  feet  ! 

Be  this  my  happy  choice  ; 

My  only  care,  delight,  and  blifs. 

My  joy,  my  heaven  on  earth,  be  this,  — 
To  hear  the  Bridegroom’s  voice. 

O  that,  with  humbled  Peter,  I 
Could  weep,  believe,  and  thrice  reply. 

My  faithfulnefs  to  prove. 

Thou  know’ll,  (for  all  to  Thee  is  known. 
Thou  know’ll,  O  Lord,  and  Thou  alone. 
Thou  know’ll  that  Thee  I  love. 


4  Aspiration. 

O  that  I  could,  with  favor’d  John, 

Recline  my  weary  head  upon 
The  dear  Redeemer’s  breaft  ! 

From  care,  and  fin,  and  sorrow  free. 

Give  me,  O  Lord,  to  find  in  Thee 
My  everlafting  reft. 

Thy  only  love  do  I  require. 

Nothing  in  earth  beneath  defire, 

Nothing  in  heaven  above  ; 

Let  earth,  and  heaven,  and  all  things  go. 

Give  me  Thy  only  love  to  know. 

Give  me  Thy  only  love. 

Charles  Wesley, 

•***^9%%-***- 


THE  ANSWER. 

A  LLAH,  Allah  !  ”  cried  the  fick  man,  racked  with 
jLjL  pain  the  long  night  through ; 

Till  with  prayer  his  heart  grew  tender,  till  his  lips  like 
honey  grew. 

But  at  morning  came  the  Tempter;  said,  “  Call  louder, 
child  of  Pain  ! 

See  if  Allah  ever  hear,  or  answers,  ‘  Here  am  I,’  again.” 


Aspiration.  5 

Like  a  ftab,  the  cruel  cavil  through  his  brain  and  pulses 
went ; 

To  his  heart  an  icy  coldnefs,  to  his  brain  a  darknefs, 
sent. 

Then,  before  him,  ftands  Elias ;  says,  “  My  child,  why 
thus  dismayed  ? 

Doft  repent  thy  former  fervor  ?  Is  thy  soul  of  prayer 
afraid  ?  ” 

“  Ah !  ”  he  cried,  I ’ve  called  so  often  ;  never  heard 
the  ‘  Here  am  I  ’ ; 

And  I  thought,  God  will  not  pity ;  will  not  turn  on 
me  his  eye.” 

Then  the  grave  Elias  answered,  “God  said,  ‘  Rise, 
Elias  ;  go 

Speak  to  him,  the  sorely  tempted  j  lift  him  from  his  gulf 
of  woe. 

“‘Tell  him  that  his  very  longing  is  itself  an  answering 
cry; 

That  HIS  prayer,  “  Come,  gracious  Allah !  ”  is  My 
answer,  “  Here  am  I.”  ’ 

Every  inmoft  aspiration  is  God’s  angel  undefiled ; 

And  in  every  ‘  O  my  Father!’  llumbers  deep  a  ‘Here, 
my  child.’ 

Dscheladeddi  n . 

TholucP s  verfion,  Tranjlated  hy  Rev.  James  F.  Clarke. 


6 


Aspiration. 


CHEAP  MEDICINE. 


That  which  makes  us  have  no  need 
Of  phyfic,  that ’s  phyfic  indeed. 

Hark  hither,  reader  !  wilt  thou  see 
Nature  her  own  phyfician  be 
Wilt  see  a  man,  all  his  own  wealth, 

His  own  mufic,  his  own  health ; 

A  man  whose  sober  soul  can  tell 
How  to  wear  her  garments  well  ; 

Her  garments  that  upon  her  fit. 

As  garments  fhould  do,  close  and  fit  ; 

A  well-cloth’d  soul  that ’s  not  opprefiT’d 

Nor  chok’d  with  what  fhe  fliould  be  drelT’d  ;  — 

A  soul  fheath’d  in  a  cryftal  Ihrine, 

Through  which  all  her  bright  features  ftiine  j 
As  when  a  piece  of  wanton  lawn, 

A  thin,  aerial  veil,  is  drawn 
O’er  beauty’s  face,  seeming  to  hide. 

More  sweetly  fliows  the  blufhing  bride ; 

A  soul,  whose  intelledfual  beams 
No  mifts  do  mafk,  no  lazy  ftreams  ; 

A  happy  soul,  that  all  the  way 
To  heaven  rides  in  a  summer’s  day 
Would’fi:  see  a  man,  whose  well-warmed  blood 
Bathes  him  in  a  genuine  flood  ? 

A  man  whose  tundd  humors  be 


Aspiration. 


1 


A  seat  of  rareft  harmony  ? 

Would’ft  see  blithe  looks,  frefh  cheeks  beguile 
Age?  Would’ft  see  December  smile? 
Would’ft  see  nefts  of  new  roses  grow 
In  a  bed  of  reverend  snow  ?  — 

Warm  thoughts,  free  spirits  flattering 
Winter’s  self  into  a  spring  ? 

In  sum,  would’ft  see  a  man  that  can 
Live  to  be  old  —  and  ftill  a  man? 

Whose  lateft  and  moft  leaden  hours 

Fall  with  soft  wings,  ftuck  with  soft  flowers  ; 

And  when  life’s  sweet  fable  ends. 

Soul  and  body  part  like  friends  ; 

No  quarrels,  murmurs,  no  delay; 

A  kiss,  a  flgh,  and  so  away  ? 

This  rare  one,  reader,  would’ft  thou  see  ? 

Hark  hither  !  and  thyself  be  he. 


Richard  Crajhaw.  1637-1650. 


8  Virtue. 


j 

VIRTUE. 

✓ 

IF  Virtue  be  thy  guide, 

True  comfort  is  thy  path, 

And  thou  secure  from  erring  fteps. 

That  lead  to  vengeance  wrath. 

Not  wideft  open  door. 

Nor  spacious  ways  fhe  goes  ; 

To  ftraight  and  narrow  gate  and  way. 

She  calls,  ftie  leads,  flie  fhows. 

She  calls,  the  feweft  come  ; 

She  leads  the  humble  spirited  ; 

She  fhows  them  reft  at  race’s  end. 

Soul’s  reft  to  heaven  invited. 

’T  is  fhe  that  offers  moft ; 

’T  is  fhe  that  moft  refuse ; 

’T  is  fhe  prevents  the  broad  way  plagues. 
Which  moft  do  wilful  choose. 


Virtue. 


9 


Do  choose  the  wide,  the  broad, 

The  left-hand  way  and  gate  : 

These  Vice  applauds,  these  Virtue  loathes. 
And  teacheth  hers  to  hate. 

Her  ways  are  pleasant  ways. 

Upon  the  right-hand  fide; 

And  heavenly  happy  is  that  soul 
Takes  Virtue  for  her  guide. 


Robert  Southwell.  1562-1569. 


WALKING  IN  LIGHT. 

WALK  in  the  light! — So  {halt  thou  know 
That  fellowfhip  of  love. 

His  Spirit  only  can  beftow. 

Who  reigns  in  light  above  ! 

Walk  in  the  light!  —  And  fin,  abhorred. 

Shall  ne’er  defile  again  ; 

The  blood  of  Jesus  Chrift  our  Lord 
Shall  cleanse  from  every  ftain  ! 

Walk  in  the  light!  —  And  thou  (halt  find 
Thy  heart  made  truly  His, 

Who  dwells  in  cloudlefs  light  enfhrined. 

In  whom  no  darknefs  is  ! 


10 


Virtue, 


Walk  in  the  light  !  — And  thou  fhalt  own 
Thy  darknefs  palled  away, 

Because  that  light  hath  on  thee  fhone, 

In  which  is  perfect  day! 

Walk  in  the  light!  —  And  even  the  tomb 
No  fearful  fhade  lhall  wear  ; 

Glory  lhall  chase  away  its  gloom, 

For  Chrift  hath  conquered  there! 

Walk  in  the  light  I  —  And  thou  fhalt  see 
A  path,  though  thorny,  bright ; 

For  God,  by  grace,  lhall  dwell  in  thee. 

And  God  Himself  is  light  I 

Barton. 

VEIL,  Lord,  mine  eyes  till  Ihe  be  pall. 
When  Folly  tempts  my  fight; 

Keep  Thou  my  palate  and  my  talle 
From  gluttonous  delight. 

Stop  Thou  mine  ear  from  syrens’  songs, 

My  tongue  from  lies  rellrain  ; 

Withhold  my  hands  from  doing  wrongs, 

My  feet  from  courses  vain  : 

Teach,  likewise,  ev’ry  other  sense 
To  a£t  an  honell  part, 


virtue. 


1 1 


But  chiefly  settle  innocence 
And  purenefs  in  my  heart  : 

So  nought  without  me  or  within. 
Shall  work  an  ill  efFedl:, 

By  tempting  me  to  a£l:  a  fm, 

Or  virtues  to  negledl:. 


George  Wither,  1588—1667. 


FAME. 


HAT  fhall  I  do  left  life  in  filence  pafs  ? 


And  if  it  do, 


And  never  prompt  the  bray  of  noisy  brafs. 

What  need’ft  thou  rue  ? 

Remember,  aye  the  Ocean  deeps  are  mute  ; 

The  ftiallows  roar  j 

Worth  is  the  Ocean  —  Fame  is  but  the  bruit 
Along  the  fhore.  - 

What  fhall  I  do  to  be  forever  known  ? 

Thy  duty  ever. 

This  did  full  many  who  yet  flept  unknown,  — 

Oh  !  never,  never  ! 

Think’ft  thou  perchance,  that  they  remain  unknown 
Whom  thou  know’ft  not  ? 

By  angel-trumps  in  heaven  their  praise  is  blown,  — 
Divine  their  lot. 


12 


Virtue. 


What  fhall  I  do  to  gain  eternal  life  ? 

Discharge  aright 

The  fimple  dues  with  which  each  day  is  rife  ? 

Yea,  with  thy  might. 

Ere  perfedl  scheme  of  adlion  thou  devise 
Will  life  be  fled, 

While  he,  who  ever  adfs  as  conscience  cries. 
Shall  live,  though  dead. 

From  Schiller, 


HIDDEN  GROWTH. 


Dear,  secret  greennefs  !  nurfl:  below 

Tempefls  and  windes  and  winter-nights! 
Vex  not,  that  but  One  sees  thee  grow; 

That  One  made  all  these  lefTer  lights. 


What  needs  a  conscience  calm  and  bright 
Within  itself,  an  outward  teft  ? 

Who  breaks  his  glafs  to  take  more  light. 

Makes  way  for  ftorms  into  his  reft. 

Then  blefs  thy  secret  growth,  nor  catch 
At  noise,  but  thrive  unseen  and  dumb ; 

Keep  clean,  bear  fruit,  earn  life,  and  watch 
Till  the  white-winged  reapers  come ! 

Vaughan. 


Virtue.  1 3 


THE  RIVER  OF  LIFE. 

There  is  a  pure  and  peaceful  wave. 
That  rolls  around  the  throne  of  love, 
Whose  waters  gladden  as  they  lave 

The  peaceful  ftiores  above. 

While  ftreams  which  on  that  tide  depend. 
Steal  from  those  heavenly  ftiores  away. 

And  on  this  desert  world  descend. 

O’er  weary  lands  to  ftiray  ; 

The  pilgrim,  faint,  and  nigh  to  fink 
Beneath  his  load  of  earthly  woe, 

Refreftied  befide  their  verdant  brink. 

Rejoices  in  their  flow. 

There,  O  my  soul,  do  thou  repair. 

And  hover  o’er  the  hallowed  spring. 

To  drink  the  cryflal  wave,  and  there 

To  lave  thy  wearied  wing. 

There  droop  that  wing,  when  far  it  flies 
From  human  care,  and  toil,  and  ftrife. 

And  feed  by  those  flill  ftreams  that  rise 

Beneath  the  tree  of  life. 


14 


Virtue 


It  may  be  that  the  waft  of  love 

Some  leaves  on  that  pure  tide  has  driven, 

Which,  palling  from  the  Ihores  above. 

Have  floated  down  from  heaven. 

So  lhall  thy  wounds  and  woes  be  healed 
By  the  blefl:  virtue  that  they  bring  ; 

So  thy  parched  lips  lhall  be  unsealed. 

Thy  Saviour’s  praise  to  fing. 


■  t 


r 


True  Gain. 


15 


TRUE  GAIN. 

SOUL  AND  BODY. 

POOR  soul,  the  centre  of  my  finful  earth, 

Foiled  by  those  rebel  powers  that  thee  array, 
Why  doft  thou  pine  within,  and  suffer  dearth. 
Painting  thy  outward  walls  so  coftly  gay  ? 

Why  so  large  coft,  having  so  fhort  a  lease, 

Doft  thou  upon  thy  fading  manfion  spend  ? 

Shall  worms,  inheritors  of  this  excefs. 

Eat  up  thy  charge  ?  Is  this  thy  body’s  end  ? 

Then,  soul,  live  thou  upon  thy  servant’s  lofs. 

And  let  that  pine  to  aggravate  thy  ftore  ! 

Buy  terms  divine  in  selling  hours  of  drofs  ! 

Within  be  fed,  without  be  rich  no  more  ! 

So  fhalt  thou  feed  on  death,  that  feeds  on  men. 
And,  death  once  dead,  there’s  no  more  dying  then. 

Shakspeare. 


i6 


T^rue  Gain, 


SOMETIME,  O  Lord  !  at  leaf!  in  fliow, 

A  thankful  heart  we  do  profefs, 

When  Thou  such  bleffings  doft  beftow, 

As  outward  riches,  health,  or  peace  ; 

But  for  that  means  which  may  conduce 
Our  souls  to  their  true  blifs  to  raise. 

We  make  not  very  frequent  use 
Of  thankful  words,  or  hymns  of  praise. 

O  God  !  forgive  this  crying  fin. 

More  wise,  more  thankful,  let  us  grow. 

To  mend  this  fault  let  us  begin. 

And  grace  obtain  more  grace  to  fhow : 

For  corn,  and  wine,  and  oil’s  increase, 

A  body  sound,  a  witty  brain, 

A  free  eftate,  an  outward  peace. 

Without  this  blelling  were  in  vain. 

George  Wither. 


\  . 


’True  Gain. 


17 


TRAVELS  AT  HOME. 

OFT  have  I  wifhed  a  traveller  to  be  : 

Mine  eyes  did  even  itch  the  fights  to  see 
That  I  had  heard  and  read  of.  Oft  I  have 
Been  greedy  of  occafion,  as  the  grave,  . 

That  never  says  enough  ;  yet  ftill  was  crolfed 
When  opportunities  had  promised  moft. 

At  laft  I  said,  What  mean’ll  thou,  wandering  elf 
To  llraggle  thus  ?  go,  travel  firft  thyself. 

Thy  little  world  can  Ihew  thee  wonders  great : 

The  greater  may  have  more,  but  not  more  neat 
And  curious  pieces.  Search,  and  thou  lhalt  find 
Enough  to  talk  of.  If  thou  wilt,  thy  mind 
Europe  supplies,  and  Afia  thy  will. 

And  Afric  thine  affedlions.  And  if  ftill 
Thou  lift  to  travel  further,  put  thy  senses 
For  both  the  Indies.  Make  no  more  pretences 
Of  new  discoveries,  whilft  yet  thine  own 
And  neareft  little  world  is  ftill  unknown. 

Away,  then,  with  thy  quadrants,  compalfes. 

Globes,  tables,  cards,  and  maps,  and  minute  glalfes  ! 
Lay  by  thy  journals  and  thy  diaries  ! 

Close  up  thy  annals  and  thy  hiftories  ! 

Study  thyself,  and  read  what  thou  haft  writ 
In  thine  own  book,  —  thy  conscience!  Is  it  fit 


1 8  True  Gain, 


To  labor  after  other  knowledge  so. 

And  thine  own  neareft,  deareft  self  not  know  ? 
Travels  abroad  both  dear  and  dangerous  are, 

Whilft  oft  the  soul  pays  for  the  body’s  fare. 

Travels  at  home  are  cheap  and  safe.  Salvation 
Comes  mounted  on  the  wings  of  meditation. 

He  that  doth  live  at  home,  and  learns  to  know 
God  and  himself,  needeth  no  further  go. 

Chrijiopher  Harvey. 


'***•%%%***' 


WHY  doth  ambition  so  the  mind  diftrelTe 
To  make  us  scorne  what  we  pofleffe, 

And  look  so  farre  before  us,  fince  all  we 
Can  hope,  is  varied  misery  ? 

Goe  find  some  whispering  fhade  neare  Arne  or  Po, 
And  gently  ’mong  their  violets  throw 
Your  weary’d  limbs,  and  see  if  all  those  faire 
Enchantments  can  charme  griefe  or  care. 

Our  sorrowes  ftill  pursue  us ;  and  when  you 
The  ruin’d  capitol  fhall  view. 

And  ftatues,  a  disorder’d  heape  ;  you  can 
Not  cure  yet  the  disease  of  man. 

And  banilh  your  owne  thoughts.  Go  travaile  where 
Another  Sun  and  ftarres  appeare. 


True  Gain,  19 

And  land  not  toucht  by  any  covetous  fleet, 

And  yet  even  there  yourself  you’ll  meete. 

Stay  here  then,  and  while  curious  exiles  find 
New  toyes  for  a  fantaflrique  mind. 

Enjoy  at  home  what’s  reall :  here  the  Spring 
By  her  aeriall  quires  doth  fing 
As  sweetly  to  you,  as  if  you  were  laid 
Vnder  the  learn’d  ThelTalian  fhade. 

Diredf.  your  eyefight  inward,  and  you’ll  find 
A  thousand  regions  in  your  mind 
Yet  undiscover’d.  Travell  them,  and  be 
Expert  in  home  cosmographie. 

This  you  may  doe  safe  both  from  rocice  and  fhelfe  : 
Man’s  a  whole  world  within  himselfe. 

Habington,  1605-1654. 


20 


True  Gain. 


THOUGHT. 


COMPANION  none  is  like 
Unto  the  mind  alone, 

For  many  have  been  harmed  by  speech, — 
Through  thinking,  few,  or  none. 

Fear  oftentimes  reftraineth  words. 

But  makes  not  thoughts  to  cease  ; 

And  he  speaks  heft,  that  hath  the  fkill 
When  for  to  hold  his  peace. 

I 

Our  wealth  leaves  us  at  death, 

Our  kinsmen  at  the  grave. 

But  virtues  of  the  mind  unto 
The  heavens  with  us  we  have  ; 

Wherefore,  for  virtue’s  sake, 

I  can  be  well  content 
The  sweeteft  time  of  all  my  life 
To  deem  in  thinking  spent. 

f 

Lord  V ciux.  Died  in  1555* 


True  Gain.  21 


THE  PILGRIM. 

Give  me  my  scallop-fhell  of  quiet, 

My  ftafF  of  faith  to  walk  upon  ; 

My  scrip  of  joy,  immortal  diet ; 

My  bottle  of  salvation  ; 

My  gown  of  glory  (hope’s  true  gage). 

And  thus  I’ll  take  my  pilgrimage. 

Blood  muft  be  my  body’s  only  balmer 
Whilft  my  soul,  like  a  quiet  Palmer, 
Travelleth  towards  the  land  of  Heaven  ; 

No  other  balm  will  there  be  given. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  1522—1618. 


But  what,  or  who  are  we  [alas] 

That  we  in  giving  are  so  free  ! 

Thine  own  before  our  offering  was. 

And  all  we  have  we  have  from  thee. 

For  we  are  guefls  and  Grangers  here. 

As  were  our  fathers  in  thy  fight ; 

Our  days  but  fhadow-like  appear. 

And  suddenly  they  take  their  flight. 

George  Wither. 


22 


True  Gain, 


TRUE  RICHES. 

In  vain  do  men 

The  heavens  of  their  fortunes’  fault  accuse, 

Sith  they  know  heft  what  is  the  heft  for  them ; 

For  they  to  each  such  fortune  do  diffuse 
As  they  do  know  each  can  moft  aptly  use. 

For  not  that  which  men  covet  moft  is  beft, 

Nor  that  thing  worft  which  men  do  moft  refuse  ; 
But  fitteft  is,  that  all  contented  reft 

With  that  they  hold  ;  each  hath  his  fortune  in  his  breaft. 

It  is  the  mind  that  maketh  good  or  ill. 

That  maketh  wretch  or  happy,  rich  or  poor  j 
For  some  that  hath  abundance  at  his  will. 

Hath  not  enough  ;  but  wants  in  greater  ftore  ; 

And  other,  that  hath  little,  afks  no  more. 

But  in  that  little  is  both  rich  and  wise  ; 

For  wisdom  is  moft  riches :  fools  therefore 
They  are  which  fortune  do  by  vows  devise, 

Sith  each  unto  himself  his  life  may  fortunize. 

Spenser,  1553— 1599* 


True  Gain. 


n 


WHEN  WE  PUT  OFF  OUR  APPAREL. 

AS  ere  I  down  am  couched  there, 
Where  now  I  hope  to  reft, 

I  firft  from  what  I  daily  wear. 

Begin  to  be  undreft  ; 

So  in  my  grave  ere  I  ftiall  be 
In  bleft  reposure  laid. 

Of  many  rags  yet  worn  by  me 
I  muft  be  disarray’d. 

My  fruitlefs  hopes,  my  foolifti  fears. 

My  luft,  my  lofty  pride. 

My  fleftily  joys,  my  needlefs  cares, 

Muft  quite  be  laid  afide. 

Yea,  that  self-love  which  yet  I  wear 
More  near  me  than  my  fkin, 

Muft  off*  be  pluck’d  ere  I  ftiall  dare 
My  laft  long  fleep  begin. 

Of  these  and  all  such  rags  as  these. 
When  I  am  disarray’d. 

My  soul  and  body  ftiall  have  ease. 
Wherever  I  am  laid  : 

Nor  fears  of  death,  nor  cares  of  life. 
Shall  then  disquiet  me  ; 


24  True  Gain. 

Nor  dreaming  joys,  nor  waking  grief, 
My  fleep’s  difturbance  be. 


Therefore  inftrudt  Thou  me,  O  God  ! 

And  give  me  grace  to  heed 
With  what  vain  things  ourselves  we  load, 
And  what  we  rather  need. 

Oh,  help  me  tear  those  clouts  away. 

And  let  them  so  be  loathed  ; 

That  I  on  my  laft  rifing  day 
With  glory  may  be  clothed. 


And  now  when  I  am  naked  laid. 
Vouchsafe  me  so  to  arm. 

That  nothing  make  my  heart  afraid. 
Or  do  my  body  harm. 

And  guard  me  so  when  down  I  lie. 
And  when  I  rise  again  ; 

That  fleep  or  wake,  or  live  or  die, 

I  ftill  may  safe  remain. 


George  Wither.  1588—1667. 


Love.  25 


LOVE. 

**»»®©®^** 

LOVE. 

Till  love  appear,  we  live  in  anxious  doubt ; 

But  smoke  will  vanifh  when  that  flame  breaks  out ; 
This  is  the  fire  that  would  consume  our  drofs, 

Refine  and  make  us  richer  by  the  lofs. 

Could  we  forbear  dispute  and  pra61:ise  love, 

We  ftiould  agree  as  angels  do  above. 

Where  love  prefides,  not  vice  alone  does  find 
No  entrance  there,  but  virtues  ftay  behind. 

Both  Faith  and  Hope,  and  all  the  meaner  train 
Of  moral  virtues,  at  the  door  remain  ; 

Love  only  enters  as  a  native  there. 

For,  born  in  heaven,  it  does  but  sojourn  here. 

Weak  though  we  are,  to  love  is  no  hard  talk. 

And  love  for  love  is  all  that  Heaven  does  afk. 

Love,  that  would  all  men  juft:  and  temperate  make. 

Kind  to  themselves  and  others,  for  his  sake. 

’T  is  with  our  minds  as  with  a  fertile  ground. 

Wanting  this  love,  they  muft:  with  weeds  abound  : 

Unruly  paflions,  whose  efFedls  are  worse 

Than  thorns  and  thiftles  springing  from  the  curse. 

Edmund  Waller.  1605—1687. 


26 


Love, 


LITTLE  CHILDREN. 

Love  divine  its  word  hath  spoken  ; 

Hath  its  life  exprelTed  ;  — 

To  the  earneft,  seeking  spirit, 

It  hath  given  a  teft, 

Marking  the  inheritors 
Of  its  heavenly  reft. 

Oh,  the  blefting,  the  rich  blefting  ! 

Is  it  thine  and  mine  ? 

Who  are  they,  the  true  recipients 
Of  the  Love  Divine  ? 

Little  children,  little  children ! 

Not  in  years  alone — ^ 

Little  children  in  the  spirit. 

These  He  calls  his  own. 

Have  ye  love,  like  little  children  ? 

Have  ye  faith  as  they  ? 

Do  your  angels,  near  the  Father, 

See  his  face  alway  ? 

Then  are  ye  within  the  kingdom ! 

Hold  the  bleffing  up ! 

This  the  “  myftic  hydrome  ’’ 

In  life’s  golden  cup. 

’T  was  o’erturned  when  Eden’s  exiles 
Closed  the  garden  door, 


Love, 


27 


But  refilled  again,  forever 
Running  o’er  and  o’er, 

With  a  new,  divine  elixir, 
Emanating  power. 

Circling  life  with  noble  meaning 
And  angelic  lore. 

When  the  Holy  Dove  descended 
Upon  Jordan’s  fhore. 

Little  children,  young  and  aged. 
Bear  the  blefling  up  ! 

Pour  around  the  life  elixir. 

From  your  golden  cup ! 

Love  is  the  divine  reftorer 
Of  the  souls  of  men  ; 

This  the  new,  perpetual  Eden 
We  muft  seek  again. 

Love  is  the  eternal  childhood  ; 
Hither  all  muft  come, 

.  Who  the  kingdom  would  inherit 
Of  the  Heavenly  Home. 


\ 


28 


Love. 


WHEN  KINDRED  MEET  TOGETHER. 

HOW  happy  is  it  and  how  sweet. 
When  kindred  kind  appear ! 

And  when  in  unity  we  meet 
As  we  obliged  are ! 

Each  bleffing  which  on  one  doth  fall, 
Will  multiplied  be  ; 

And  prove  a  bleffing  to  us  all. 

As  long  as  we  agree. 

I 

As  from  high  hills  a  fhower  of  rain 
Along  the  valleys  trills. 

And  as  they  vapour  up  again 
A  moift’ning  for  those  hills  : 

So  kindred,  whether  poor  or  rich. 

If  truly  kind  they  prove. 

Each  other  may  advantage  much. 

By  interchange  of  love. 

The  flendereft  threads  together  wound. 
Will  make  the  ftrongeft  band  ; 

And  smalleft  rods,  if  closely  bound. 

The  bender’s  force  withftand. 


Love. 


But  if  we  those  asunder  take. 

Their  ftrength  departs  away ; 

And  what  a  giant  could  not  break, 

A  little  infant  may. 

So  if  in  concord  we  abide, 

If  true  in  heart  we  prove, 

We  may  the  more  be  fortified 
By  interchange  of  love. 

Let  us  therefore,  who  now  have  met. 
Observe  this  lefiTon  so. 

That  we  do  not  the  same  forget. 
When  we  apart  fliall  go. 

Let  none  of  us  delight  to  tell. 

Or  pleasure  take  to  hear. 

Wherein  his  kinsman  doth  not  well. 
Or  faulty  may  appear. 

But  let  each  of  us  our  own  crimes. 
With  others’  errors  weigh  ; 

And  seek  the  fittefl:  means  and  times, 
To  mend  them  what  we  may. 

If  malice  injure  any  one 
To  whom  allied  we  are. 

Let  us  repute  the  wrong  as  done 
To  every  person  here. 

Yea,  if  a  grief,  a  lofs,  a  fhame. 

To  one  of  us  befall ; 

Let  us  be  tender  of  the  same. 

As  grievous  to  us  all. 


30  Love, 

So  we  that  are  but  linked  yet 
In  bands  of  common  kind, 

Shall  at  the  laft  be  nearer  knit 
By  virtues  of  the  mind. 

And  when  the  ties  of  carnal  kin 
By  death  fhall  be  undone  j 
We  that  have  so  allied  been, 

Shall  be  forever  one. 

George  Wither, 


There  is  a  plant  that  in  its  cell 
All  trembling  seems  to  ftand, 

And  bends  its  ftalk,  and  folds  its  leaves 
From  each  approaching  hand  : 

And  thus  there  is  a  conscious  nerve 
Within  the  human  breaft, 

That  from  the  rafh  and  carelefs  hand 
Sinks  and  retires  diftreft. 

The  prelTure  rude,  the  touch  severe, 
Will  raise  within  the  mind 
A  namelefs  thrill,  a  secret  tear, 

A  torture  undefined. 

Oh,  you  who  are  by  nature  form’d 
Each  thought  refined  to  know  ! 


Love. 


Reprefs  the  word,  the  glance,  that  wakes 
That  trembling  nerve  to  woe. 

And  be  it  ftill  your  joy  to  raise 
The  trembler  from  the  fhade. 

To  bind  the  broken,  and  to  heal 
The  wound  you  never  made. 

Whene’er  you  see  the  feeling  mind. 

Oh,  let  this  care  begin  ; 

And  though  the  cell  be  ne’er  so  low. 
Respect  the  gueft  within. 


Lydia  Huntley, 


32 


Love. 


CHARITY. 

Breathe  thoughts  of  pity  o’er  a  brother’s  fall. 

But  dwell  not  with  ftern  anger  on  his  fault  : 

The  grace  of  God  alone  holds  thee,  holds  all ; 

Were  that  withdrawn,  thou  too  would’ft  swerve  and  halt. 

Send  back  the  wanderer  to  the  Saviour’s  fold, — 

That  were  an  adtion  worthy  of  a  saint ; 

But  not  in  malice  let  the  crime  be  told. 

Nor  publifh  to  the  world  the  evil  taint. 

The  Saviour  suffers  when  his  children  Aide  ; 

Then  is  his  holy  name  by  men  blasphemed  ! 

And  he  afrefh  is  mocked  and  crucified. 

Even  by  those  his  bitter  death  redeemed. 

Rebuke  the  fin,  and  yet  in  love  rebuke  ; 

Feel  as  one  member  in  another’s  pain  ; 

Win  back  the  soul  that  his  fair  path  forsook, 

And  mighty  and  eternal  is  thy  gain. 

Edmefton. 


Love. 


33 


ANGELIC  MINISTRY. 

And  is  there  care  in  Heaven  ?  And  is  there  love 
In  heavenly  spirits  to  these  creatures  base, 

That  may  compaffion  of  their  evils  move  ? 

There  is,  —  else  much  more  wretched  were  the  case 
Of  men  than  beafts  :  but  O  !  the  exceeding  grace 
Of  higheft  God,  that  loves  His  creatures  so. 

And  all  His  works  with  mercy  doth  embrace. 

That  blelTed  angels  He  sends  to  and  fro. 

To  serve  to  wicked  man,  to  serve  His  wicked  foe  ! 

How  oft  do  they  their  filver  bowers  leave. 

To  come  to  succor  us  that  succor  want! 

How  oft  do  they  with  golden  pinions  cleave 
The  flitting  fkies,  like  flying  pursuivant, 

Againft:  foul  fiends  to  aid  us  militant! 

They  for  us  fight,  they  watch  and  duly  ward. 

And  their  bright  squadrons  round  about  us  plant ; 

And  all  for  love  and  nothing  for  reward  j 

Oh,  why  ftiould  heavenly  God  to  men  have  such  regard 

Edmund  Spenser. 


3 


34  Love. 


I.AKVJE. 

My  little  maiden  of  four  years  old 

(No  myth,  but  a  genuine  child  is  fhe, 

With  her  bronze-brown  eyes,  and  her  curls  of  gold) 
Came,  quite  in  disguft,  one  day,  to  me. 

Rubbing  her  fhoulder  with  rosy  palm, — 

As  the  loathsome  touch  seemed  yet  to  thrill  her. 

She  cried,  —  “Oh,  mother,  I  found  on  my  arm 
A  horrible,  crawling  caterpillar  !  ’’ 

And  with  mischievous  smile  ftie  could  scarcely  smother, 
Yet  a  glance,  in  its  daring,  half-awed  and  fhy. 

She  added,  —  “While  they  were  about  it,  mother, 

I  wifh  they’d  juft  finiflied  the  butterfly  !  ” 

They  were  words  to  the  thought  of  the  soul  that  turns 
From  the  coarser  form  of  a  partial  growth. 
Reproaching  the  Infinite  Patience  that  yearns 
With  an  unknown  glory  to  crown  them  both. 

Ah,  look  thou  largely,  with  lenient  eyes. 

On  whatso  befide  thee  may  creep  and  cling, 

For  the  poflible  beauty  that  underlies 

The  pafling  phase  of  the  meaneft  thing  ! 


Love. 


What  if  God’s  great  angels,  whose  waiting  love 
Beholdeth  our  pitiful  life  below, 

From  the  holy  height  of  their  heaven  above. 

Couldn’t  bear  with  the  worm  till  the  wings  fhould  grow  ? 

Atlantic  Monthly. 

— , 

THE  GATE  OF  HEAVEN. 

SHE  flood  outfide  the  gate  of  heaven,  and  saw  them 
entering  in, 

A  world-long  train  of  fhining  ones,  all  wafhed  in  blood 
from  fin. 

The  hero-martyr  in  that  blaze  uplifted  his  flrong  eye. 

And  trod  firm  the  reconquered  soil  of  his  nativity  ! 

And  he  who  had  despised  his  life,  and  laid  it  down  in 
pain. 

Now  triumphed  in  its  worthinefs,  and  took  it  up  again. 

The  holy  one,  who  had  met  God  in  desert  cave  alone. 
Feared  not  to  fland  with  brethren  around  the  Father’s 
throne. 

They  who  had  done,  in  darkefl  night,  the  deeds  of 
^  light  and  flame. 

Circled  with  them  about  as  with  a  glowing  halo  came. 


Love. 


And  humble  souls,  who  held  themselves  too  dear  for 
earth  to  buy, 

Now  pafled  through  the  golden  gate,  to  live  eternally. 

And  when  into  the  glory  the  laft  of  all  did  go, 

“  Thank  God  !  there  is  a  heaven,’’  fhe  cried,  ‘‘  though 
mine  is  endlefs  woe.” 

The  angel  of  the  golden  gate  said  :  ‘‘  Where,  then, 

doft  thou  dwell  ? 

And  who  art  thou  that  entered:  not  ?  ”  —  “A  soul  es¬ 
caped  from  hell.” 

‘‘  Who  knows  to  blefs  with  prayer  like  thine,  in  hell 
can  never  be ; 

God’s  angel  could  not,  if  he  would,  bar  up  this  door 
from  thee.” 

She  left  her  fin  outfide  the  gate,  fhe  meekly  entered 
there. 

Breathed  free  the  blefTed  air  of  heaven,  and  knew  her 
native  air. 

Disciple* s  Hymn  Book, 


Love, 


37 


GOD  KNOWN  BY  LOVING  HIM. 

b 

TIS  not  the  fkill  of  human  art 

Which  gives  me  power  my  God  to  know. 
The  sacred  leflbns  of  the  heart 
Come  not  from  inftruments  below. 

Love  is  my  teacher.  He  can  tell 
The  wonders  that  he  learnt  above  ; 

No  other  mafter  knows  so  well ;  — 

’T  is  Love  alone  can  tell  of  Love. 

O,  then  of  God  if  thou  wouldft  learn, 

His  wisdom,  goodnefs,  glory,  see  ; 

All  human  arts  and  knowledge  spurn, 

Let  love  alone  thy  teacher  be. 

Love  is  my  mafter.  When  it  breaks, 

The  morning  light,  with  rifing  ray. 

To  thee,  O  God  !  my  spirit  wakes. 

And  love  inftrudfs  it  all  the  day. 

And  when  the  gleams  of  day  retire, 

And  midnight  spreads  its  dark  control, 

Love’s  secret  whispers  ftill  inspire 
Their  holy  leflbns  in  the  soul. 

Madame  Guy  on. 


Love, 


LOVE. 


NO  outward  mark  we  have  to  know 
Who  thine,  O  Chrift,  may  be, 
Until  a  Chriftian  love  doth  fhow 
Who  appertains  to  thee: 

For  knowledge  may  be  reach’d  unto, 
And  formal  juftice  gain’d. 

But  till  each  other  love  we  do. 

Both  faith  and  works  are  feign’d. 


Love  is  the  sum  of  those  commands. 

Which  Thou  with  thine  doft  leave  j 
And  for  a  mark  on  them  it  ftands. 

Which  never  can  deceive : 

For  when  our  knowledge  folly  turns. 

When  fhows  no  fhew  retain. 

And  zeal  itself  to  nothing  burns. 

Then  love  fhall  ftill  remain. 

George  Wither. 


Love, 


39 


THE  SPILT  PEARLS. 

HIS  courtiers  of  the  Caliph  crave  — 
“  Oh,  say  how  this  may  be, 

That  of  thy  Haves,  this  Ethiop  Have 
Is  heft  beloved  by  thee  ? 

t 

“  For  he  is  hideous  as  the  night : 

Yet  when  has  ever  chose 
A  nightingale  for  its  delight 
A  huelefs,  scentlefs  rose  ?  ’’ 

The  Caliph  then — “No  features  fair 
No  comely  mien  are  his  : 

Love  is  the  beauty  he  doth  wear. 

And  love  his  glory  is. 

“  Once  when  a  camel  of  my  train 
There  fell  in  narrow  ftreet. 

From  broken  cafket  rolled  amain 
Rich  pearls  before  my  feet. 

“  I  nodding  to  my  Haves,  that  I 
Would  freely  give  them  these. 

At  once  upon  the  spoil  they  fly, 

.  The  coftly  boon  to  seize. 


I 


40  Love. 

“  One  only  at  my  fide  remained  — 

Befide  this  Ethiop,  none  : 

He,  movelefs  as  the  fteed  he  reined, 

Behind  me  fat  alone. 

“  ‘  What  will  thy  gain,  good  fellow,  be. 

Thus  lingering  at  my  fide  ?  ’  — 

‘  My  king,  that  I  fhall  faithfully 
Have  guarded  thee,’  he  cried. 

“  ‘  True  servant’s  title  he  may  wear. 

He  only,  who  has  not. 

For  his  lord’s  gifts,  how  rich  soe’er. 

His  lord  himself  forgot  !  ’  ” 

So  thou  alone  doft  walk  before 
Thy  God  with  perfedf  aim, 

From  Him  defirino-  nothing  more 
Befide  himself  to  claim. 

For  if  thou  not  to  Him  aspire. 

But  to  his  gifts  alone. 

Not  love,  but  covetous  defire. 

Has  brought  thee  to  his  throne. 

While  such  thy  prayer,  it  climbs  above 
In  vain  —  the  golden  key 
Of  God’s  rich  treasure-house  of  love. 

Thine  own  will  never  be. 

Trench. 

Tranjlated  from  Saadi. 


Love. 


4^ 


FAITH  THAT  WORKETH  BY  LOVE. 

WHO  keepeth  not  God’s  word,  yet  saith, 

I  know  the  Lord,  is  wrong ; 

In  him  is  not  that  blefled  faith 

Through  which  the  truth  is  ftrong ; 

But  he  who  hears  and  keeps  the  word. 

Is  not  of  this  world,  but  of  God. 

The  faith  His  word  hath  caused  to  fliine 
Will  kindle  love  in  thee ; 

More  wouldft  thou  know  of  things  divine. 
Deeper  thy  love  muft  be  ; 

True  faith  not  only  gives  thee  light. 

But  ftrength  to  love  and  do  the  right. 

He  is  in  God,  and  God  in  him. 

Who  {fill  abides  in  love  ; 

’T  is  love  that  makes  the  Cherubim 
Obey  and  praise  above  ; 

For  God  is  love,  the  lovelefs  heart 
Hath  in  His  life  and  joy  no  part. 

C.  F.  Gellert.  1757. 


42 


A^ive  Duty, 


ACTIVE  DUTY. 


ARISE! 

Arise  !  ye  lingering  saints,  arise  ! 

Remember  that  the  might  of  grace, 
When  guilty  ilumbers  sealed  your  eyes. 
Awakened  you  to  run  the  race  ; 

And  let  not  darknefs  round  vou  fall. 

But  hearken  to  the  Saviour’s  call. 

Arise  ! 

Arise  !  because  the  night  of  fin 
Muft  flee  before  the  light  of  day  ; 
God’s  glorious  Gospel,  fhining  in, 

Mufl:  chase  the  midnight  gloom  away  : 
You  cannot  true  disciples  be 
If  you  ftill  walk  in  vanity. 

Arise ! 


Arise  !  although  the  flefh  be  weak. 
The  spirit  willing  is  and  true. 
And  servants  of  the  Mafter  seek 
To  follow  where  it  guided  to. 
Beloved  !  oh,  be  wise  indeed. 

And  let  the  spirit  ever  lead. 


Arise  ! 


A^ive  Duty, 


43 


Arise  !  because  our  Serpent-foe, 

Unwearied,  ftrives  by  day  and  night  ; 
Remember,  time  is  fhort  below. 

And  wreftles  on  with  hellifli  might. 

Then  boldly  grasp  both  sword  and  fhield  — 
Who  numbers  on  the  battle-field  ? 

.  Arise  ! 

/ 

Arise  !  before  that  hour  unknown  — 

The  hour  of  death  that  comes  ere  long. 

And  comes  not  to  the  weak  alone. 

But  to  the  mighty  and  tlie  ftrong. 

Beloved  oft  in  spirit  dwell 
Upon  the  hour  that  none  can  tell. 

Arise  ! 

Arise  !  it  is  the  Mailer’s  will : 

No  more  His  heavenly  voice  despise. 

Why  linger  with  the  dying  Hill  ? 

He  calls  —  Arouse  you,  and  arise  ! 

No  longer  flight  the  Saviour’s  call. 

It  sounds  to  you,  to  me,  to  all. 

Arise  ! 

Ludwig  Goiter. 


44  Active  Duty, 


WORK  WHILE  IT  IS  DAY. 

UP,  Chriftian,  up  !  —  and  fleep’ft  thou  ftill  ? 

Daylight  is  glorious  on  the  hill ! 

And  far  advanced,  the  sunny  glow 
Laughs  in  the  sunny  vale  below  : 

The  morning’s  fhadow,  long  and  late. 

Is  ftretching  o’er  the  dial’s  plate. 

And  are  thine  eyes,  sad  walcer,  say. 

Filled  with  the  tears  of  yefterday  ? 

Or  lowers  thy  dark  and  anxious  brow 
Beneath  to-morrow’s  burthen  now  ? 

New  ftrength  for  every  hour  is  given  — 

Daily  the  manna  fell  from  heaven  ! 

See,  link  by  link,  the  chain  is  made. 

And  pearl  by  pearl  the  coftly  braid  ; 

The  daily  thread  of  hopes  and  fears 
Weaves  up  the  woof  of  many  years! 

And  well  thy  labour  fhall  have  sped 
If  well  thou  weav’d;  the  daily  thread. 

Up,  Chriftian,  up,  thy  cares  refign  ! 

The  paft:,  the  future,  are  not  thine  ! 


A^live  Duty,  45 

Show  forth  to-day  the  Saviour’s  praise ; 

Redeem  the  course  of  evil  days ; 

Life’s  fliadow,  in  its  lengthening  gloom. 

Falls  daily  nearer  to  the  tomb  ! 

Private  Hours. 

— “ 

SERVING  GOD. 

ONOT  to  fill  the  mouth  of  fame 
My  longing  soul  is  ftirred  ; 

O,  give  me  a  diviner  name! 

Call  me  thy  servant,  Lord  ! 

Sweet  title  that  delighteth  me  — 

Rank  earneftly  implored  ; 

O,  what  can  reach  my  dignity  ? 

I  am  thy  servant.  Lord  ! 

No  longer  would  my  soul  be  known 
As  self-suftained  and  free ; 

O,  not  mine  own  I  O,  not  mine  own  ! 

Lord,  I  belong  to  thee  ! 

In  each  aspiring  burfl:  of  praver, 

Sweet  leave  my  soul  would  afk 
Thine  every  burden,  Lord,  to  bear, 

To  do  thine  every  talk. 


46 


Active  Duty. 


Forever,  Lord,  thy  servant  choose, — 

Nought  of  thy  claim  abate ! 

The  glorious  name  I  would  not  lose, 

Nor  change  the  sweet  eftate, 

In  life,  in  death,  on  earth,  in  heaven, 

No  other  name  for  me! 

The  same  sweet  ftyle  and  title  given 
Through  all  eternity. 

r.  H.  Gill. 


ACTION. 

IT  is  not  they  who  idly  dwell 
In  clolfter  gray,  or  hermit  cell. 

In  prayer  and  vigil,  night  and  day, 
Wearing  all  their  prime  away. 

Lord  of  Heaven  !  that  serve  thee  well. 

A61:ion  ftill  muft  wait  on  thought ; 

Life ’s  a  voyage  rough  though  fliort ; 
We  muft  dare  the  sorrow-wave. 
Many  a  fm-ftorm  we  muft  brave, 
Ere  we  reach  our  deftined  port. 

Sitting  liftening  on  the  ftiore 
To  the  ocean’s  reftlefs  roar. 


A^ive  Duty 


47 


Never  launching  on  the  main. 

Can  the  merchant  hope  to  gain 
Wealth  to  swell  his  treasure-ftore  ? 

Vain  it  were  to  watch  befide 
The  pits  where  we  our  talents  hide ; 
We  muft  face  the  noise  and  ftrife 
Of  the  market-place  of  life. 

That  our  truftinefs  be  tried. 

Where  our  Captain  bids  us  go, 

’T  is  not  ours  to  murmur,  “No.’’ 

He  that  gives  the  sword  and  fhield. 
Chooses  too  the  battle-field 
On  which  we  are  to  fight  the  foe. 

Though,  where’er  we  look  around. 

All  we  see  is  hoftile  ground. 

Where  our  upturn’d  eyes  above 
Recognize  His  banner.  Love, 

There  it  is  we  fhould  be  found. 


48 


ASfive  Duty, 


REPENTANCE. 


Lord,  I  have  lain 

Barren  Too  long,  and  fain 
I  would  redeem  the  time,  that  I  may  be 
Fruitful  to  th  ee  ; 

Fruitful  in  knowledge,  faith,  obedience. 

Ere  I  go  hence  : 

That  when  I  come 

At  harveft  to  be  reaped,  and  brought  home. 
Thine  angels  may 
My  soul  in  thy  celeftial  garner  lay. 

Where  perfedt  iov  and  blifs 
Eternal  is. 


If  to  entreat 
A  crop  of  pureft  wheat, 

A  blelling  too  transcendent  fhould  appear 
For  me  to  hear. 

Lord,  make  me  what  thou  wilt,  so  thou  wilt  take 
What  thou  doft  make. 

And  not  disdain 

To  house  me,  though  among  thy  coarseft  grain  j 
So  I  may  be 

Laid  with  the  gleanings  gathered  by  thee. 

When  the  full  fheaves  are  spent, 

I  am  content. 

Francis  Quarles,  1592—1644. 


A^ive  Duty. 


49 


NOTHING  BUT  LEAVES. 

Nothing  but  leaves  ;  the  spirit  grieves 
Over  a  wafted  life  ; 

Sin  committed  while  conscience  flept. 
Promises  made  but  never  kept, 

Hatred,  battle,  and  ftrife  ; 

Nothing  but  leaves  ! 

Nothing  but  leaves  ;  no  garnered  ftieaves 
Of  life’s  fair,  ripened  grain; 

Words,  idle  words,  for  earned:  deeds; 

We  sow  our  seeds  —  lo  !  tares  and  weeds; 
We  reap  with  toil  and  pain 
Nothing  but  leaves  ! 

Nothing  but  leaves  ;  memory  weaves 
No  veil  to  screen  the  paft : 

As  we  retrace  our  weary  way. 

Counting  each  loft  and  miftpent  day  — 

We  find,  sadly,  at  laft. 

Nothing  but  leaves  ! 

And  ftiall  we  meet  the  Mafter  so. 

Bearing  our  withered  leaves  ? 


4 


50  ASitve  Duty. 

The  Saviour  looks  for  perfe61:  fruit, — 

We  ftand  before  him,  humbled,  mute  ; 

Waiting  the  words  he  breathes, — 
“  Nothing  but  leaves  ? 


QUESTIONS. 


WHY  doft  thou  talk  of  death,  laddie  ? 

Why  doft  thou  long  to  go  ? 

The  Mafter  that  hath  placed  thee  here 
Hath  work  for  thee  to  do. 


Why  doft  thou  talk  of  heaven,  laddie  ? 

What  would’ft  thou  say  in  heaven. 

When  the  Mafter  afks,  “What  haft  thou  done 
With  the  talents  I  have  given  ? 


“  I  gave  thee  wealth  and  power. 

And  the  poor  around  thee  spread  : 
Where  are  the  ftieep  and  lambs  of  mine 
That  thou  haft  reared  and  fed  ? 


“  I  gave  thee  wit  and  eloquence 
Thy  brethren  to  persuade  : 


Active  Duty,  51 

Where  are  the  thousands  by  thy  word 
More  wise  and  holy  made  ? 

“  I  placed  thee  in  a  land  of  light 

Where  the  Gospel  round  thee  fhone : 

Where  is  the  heavenly-mindednefs 
I  find  in  all  mine  own  ? 

“  And  lafi:  I  sent  thee  chaftisement, 

That  thou  might’ft  be  my  son  : 

Where  is  the  trufting  faith  which  says, 

‘Father!  Thy  will  be  done’?” 


— ©QfO— 


NO  HEART  ALONE. 

“  I  have  learned,”  says  the  melancholy  Peftalozzi,  “  that  in  this  wide  world 
no  one  heart  is  able  or  willing  to  help  another.” 

OSAY  not  we  through  life  muft  ftruggle, 

Muft  toil  and  mourn  alone  j 
That  no  one  human  heart  can  answer 
The  beatings  of  our  own. 

The  ftars  look  down  from  the  filent  heaven 
Into  the  quiet  ftream, 


52  A^iive  Duty. 

And  see  themselves  from  its  dewy  depths 
In  freflier  beauty  gleam. 

The  fky  with  its  pale  or  glowing  hues, 

Ever  painteth  the  wave  below  5 

And  the  sea  sends  up  its  mift  to  form 
Bright  clouds  and  the  heavenly  bow. 

Thus  each  does  of  the  other  borrow 
A  beauty  not  its  own  ; 

And  tells  us  that  no  thing  in  Nature 
Is  for  itself  alone. 

Alone,  amid  life’s  griefs  and  perils. 

The  ftouteft  soul  may  quail : 

Left  to  its  own  unaided  efforts. 

The  ftrongeft  arm  may  fail ; 

And  though  all  flrength  ftill  comes  from  Heaven, 
All  light  from  God  above. 

Yet  we  may  sometimes  be  his  angels. 

The  Apoftles  of  his  love. 

Then  let  us  learn  to  help  each  other. 

Hoping  unto  the  end  : 

Who  sees  in  every  man  a  brother. 

Shall  find  in  each  a  friend. 


Adive  Duty, 


CHARITY. 

The  pilgrim  and  ftranger,  who,  through  the  day, 
Holds  over  the  desert  his  tracklefs  way. 

Where  the  terrible  sands  no  fhade  have  known. 

No  sound  of  life  save  his  camel’s  moan. 

Hears,  at  laft,  through  the  mercy  of  Allah  to  all. 
From  his  tent-door,  at  evening,  the  Bedouin’s  call : 

“  Whoever  thou  art,  whose  need  is  great. 

In  the  name  of  God,  the  Compaflionate 
And  Merciful  One,  for  thee  I  wait !  ” 

For  gifts,  in  His  name,  of  food  and  reft. 

The  tents  of  Illam  of  God  are  bleft. 

Thou,  who  haft  faith  in  the  Chrift  above. 

Shall  the  Koran  teach  thee  the  Law  of  Love  ? 

O  Chriftian !  —  open  thy  heart  and  door,  — 

Cry,  eaft  and  weft,  to  the  wandering  poor,  — 

‘‘  Whoever  thou  art,  whose  need  is  great. 

In  the  name  of  Chrift,  the  Compaflionate 
And  Merciful  One,  for  thee  I  wait !  ” 

Mifs  E,  J,  Whittier. 


54 


Active  Duty, 


MATTHEW  30:  34. 


COME,  blefled  of  my  heavenly  Father,  come  ! 

In  the  high  heavens  your  kingdom  is  prepared  ; 
Yours  is  the  sceptre  and  the  rich  reward  ; 

Hafte,  for  your  Saviour  calls  you  to  your  home  ; 

For  I  was  hungry,  and  ye  brought  me  bread  ; 

I  thirfted,  and  your  cooling  draughts  were  mine  j 
O’er  my  cold  limbs  the  needed  veil  ye  spread  ; 

A  ftranger  was  I,  and  ye  took  me  in  ; 

I  pined  in  ficknefs,  and  ye  brought  relief  j 
In  the  deep  dungeon,  and  ye  soothed  my  grief  : 

For  these,  my  brethren,  these,  the  lowly  poor, 

Y e  sent  not  cold  and  empty  from  your  door  ; 

But  ye  relieved  their  wants,  and  heard  their  plea  ; 

’T  was  done  for  my  sake,  and  ’t  was  done  to  me  ! 


LENT. 


I 


S  this  a  Fall,  to  keep 
The  larder  lean 
And  clean 


ASfive  Duty. 


55 


From  fat  of  neats  and  fheep  ? 

Is  it  to  quit  the  difti 
Of  flefh,  y^t  ftill 
To  fill 

The  platter  high  with  fifh  ? 

Is  it  to  faft  an  hour, 

Or  ragg’d  to  go, 

Or  fhow 

A  downcaft  look  and  sour  ? 

No :  ’T  is  a  faft,  to  dole 
Thy  fheaf  of  wheat 
And  meat 

Unto  the  hungry  soul. 

It  is  to  faft  from  ftrife. 

From  old  debate 
And  hate ; 

To  circumcise  thy  life; 

To  ftarve  thy  fin. 

Not  bin  : 

And  that’s  to  keep  thy  Lent! 

Robert  Herrick.  1648. 


56  ASfive  Duty, 


THE  TWINS 

Give  ”  and  “  It-fhall-be-given-unto-you.” 

Grand  rough  old  Martin  Luther 

Bloomed  fables  —  flowers  on  furze, 
The  better  the  uncouther : 

Do  roses  flick  like  burrs  ? 

“  A  beggar  afked  an  alms 

One  day  at  an  abbey-door,” 

Said  Luther  ;  “  but,  seized  with  qualms. 
The  Abbot  replied,  ‘We’re  poor!* 

“  ‘  Poor,  who  had  plenty  once, 

‘  When  gifts  fell  thick  as  rain  : 

‘  But  they  give  us  nought,  for  the  nonce, 
‘  And  how  fhould  we  give  again  ?  ’ 

“  Then  the  beggar,  ‘  See  your  fins  ! 

‘  Of  old,  unlefs  I  err, 

‘Ye  had  brothers  for  inmates,  twins, 

‘  Date  and  Dabitur. 

“  ‘  While  Date  was  in  good  case 
‘  Dabitur  flourifhed  too  : 


A^ive  Duty. 


57 


‘  For  Dabitur’s  lenten  face, 

‘  No  wonder  if  Date  rue. 

‘‘  ‘  Would  ye  retrieve  the  one  ? 

‘Try  and  make  plump  the  other! 
‘  When  Date’s  penance  is  done, 

‘  Dabitur  helps  his  brother. 

“  ‘  Only,  beware  relapse  !  ’ 

The  Abbot  hung  his  head. 

This  beggar  might  be,  perhaps. 

An  angel,”  Luther  said. 


Robert  Browning. 


EPIPHANY. 


HAT  so  thy  blefled  birth,  O  Chrift, 


I  Might  through  the  world  be  spread  about. 
Thy  ftar  appeared  in  the  Eaft, 

Whereby  the  Gentiles  found  thee  out ; 

And  offering  thee  myrrh,  incense,  gold. 

Thy  three-fold  office  did  unfold. 

Sweet  Jesus,  let  that  flar  of  thine. 

Thy  grace,  which  guides  to  find  out  thee. 
Within  our  hearts  forever  fliine. 

That  thou  of  us  found  out  may’ft  be  ; 

And  thou  fhalt  be  our  King,  therefore. 

Our  Prieft  and  Prophet  evermore. 


r 


58 


ASiive  Duty, 


Tears,  that  from  true  repentance  drop, 

Inftead  of  myrrh,  present  will  we  : 

For  incense  we  will  offer  up 
Our  prayers  and  praises  unto  thee; 

And  bring  for  gold  each  pious  deed. 

Which  doth  from  saving  grace  proceed. 

And  as  those  wise  men  never  went 
To  visit  Herod  any  more  ; 

So,  finding  thee,  we  will  repent 
Our  courses  follow’d  heretofore: 

And  that  we  homeward  may  retire. 

The  way  by  thee  we  will  inquire. 

George  Wither. 


THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS. 

This  is  the  fhip  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign. 
Sails  the  unfhadowed  main  — 

The  venturous  barque  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  syren  fings. 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare. 

Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  ftream- 
ing  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl  ; 

Wrecked  is  the  fhip  of  pearl ! 

And  every  chambered  cell. 


ASltve  Duty, 


59 


Where  its  dim-dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 

As  the  frail  tenant  fhaped  his  growing  fhell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed  — 

Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunlefs  crypt  unsealed. 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  filent  toil 
That  spread  his  luftrous  coil; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew. 

He  left  the  paft  yearns  dwelling  for  the  new. 

Stole  with  soft  ftep  its  fhining  archway  through. 
Built  up  its  idle  door. 

Stretched  in  his  laft-found  home,  and  knew  the  old 
no  more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  mefTage  brought  by  thee. 
Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Caft  from  her  lap,  forlorn ! 

From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn  ! 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings. 

Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice 
that  fings : 

Build  thee  more  ftately  manfions,  O  my  soul. 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  paft  I 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  laft. 

Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vaft. 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free. 

Leaving  thine  out-grown  fhell  by  life’s  unrefting  sea! 

Dr.  O.  JV,  Holmes. 


6o  A^iive  Duty. 


FROM  “THE  SEXTON’S  DAUGHTER.” 

STILL  hope  !  ftill  a6I  !  Be  sure  that  life, 
The  source  and  ftrength  of  every  good, 
Waftes  down  in  feeling’s  empty  ftrife. 

And  dies  in  dreaming’s  fickly  mood. 

To  toil,  in  talks  however  mean. 

For  all  we  know  of  right  and  true, — 

In  this  alone  our  worth  is  seen  ; 

’T  is  this  we  were  ordained  to  do. 

So  fhalt  thou  find  in  work  and  thought 
The  peace  that  sorrow  cannot  give  ; 
Though  griefs  word:  pangs  to  thee  be  taught. 
By  thee  let  others  noblier  live. 

Oh  wail  not  in  the  darksome  foreft. 

Where  thou  muft  needs  be  left  alone  ! 

But,  e’en  when  memory  is  soreft. 

Seek  out  a  path,  and  journey  on. 

Thou  wilt  have  angels  near  above. 

By  whom  invifible  aid  is  given  ; 

They  journey  ftill  on  talks  of  love. 

And  never  reft,  except  in  heaven. 

Sterling. 


A£ltve  Duty,  6i 


THE  CLOUD  VOICE. 

MORTAL!  on  our  azure  pathway 
Speed  we  where  our  errand  lies  ; 
Each  our  urn  of  treasures  bearing, 
Freftiening  earth  with  glad  supplies. 

By  no  will  of  ours  we  rose  here, 

By  no  choice  of  ours  we  live  ; 

Powers,  far,  far  above  our  scanning. 

Laws  inevitable  give. 

Our  snowy  forms,  in  mid-day  air. 

Our  sunset  tints  of  fire. 

Our  lightning-flafh,  our  thunder-roar. 

Obey  a  mandate  higher.  ^ 

Our  fky-course  run,  our  million  wrought, 
Wafted  forms  we  fink  to  earth. 

Till  that  same  Great  Power  recall  us 
To  another  new  air-birth. 

Thus  far  onward  we  together ;  — 

For  the  forms  of  good  and  ill. 


62 


Active  Duty, 


The  events  which  clufter  round  thee, 
These  exift  not  through  thy  will. 

Yet  within  thy  human  bosom 
Dwells  a  force  creative  too  j 

Outward  circumftance  it  fafliions, 

All  invefts  with  its  life-hue. 

And  thy  glory  lies  in  ufing, 

Right  and  true,  this  wondrous  ftrength  ; 

Soaring  where  thy  chains  permit  thee. 

Not  murmuring  for  more  length. 

In  the  pride  of  human  reason 

Thou  haft  spurned  a  finite  power. 

And  sought  the  Eternal  Cause  of  all 
To  grasp  in  life’s  ftiort  hour. 

Not  to  scan  thy  Father’s  counsels. 

But  perform  them,  is  thy  talk  ; 

Duty  finiftied  —  then  the  why 
Of  thy  being  thou  ’It  not  alk. 

Puzzle  thee  the  paths  of  duty. 

As  their  varied  course  they  run  ? 

Oh  linger  not  in  wilds  of  doubt  ! 

Strike  unto  the  neareft  one. 

’T  will  lead  thee  to  some  fairer  height. 
Radiant  with  celeftial  glow. 


ASlive  Duty. 


^3 


Where  the  prospe6l  all  before  thee 
Brighter,  clearer,  ftill  fhall  grow. 

Then  whilft  thou  art  upward  haftening, 
New  vifions  from  new  heights  to  gain. 
No  more  fhall  how  onward  vex  thee  ;  — 
Duty  done,  life’s  path  is  plain. 

Perennial  Flowers. 


64  Saints. 


SAINTS. 

— 

INFLUENCE. 

JOY  of  my  life,  while  left  me  here  ! 

And  ftill  my  love  ! 

How  in  thy  absence  thou  doft  fteere 
Me  from  above  ! 

A  life  well  lead 
This  truth  commends, 

With  quick  or  dead 
It  never  ends. 

Stars  are  of  mighty  use  ;  the  night 
Is  dark  and  long ; 

The  rode  foul ;  and  where  one  goes  right. 
Six  may  go  wrong. 

One  twinkling  ray. 

Shot  o’re  some  cloud. 

May  clear  much  way. 

And  guide  a  crowd. 

God’s  saints  are  fliining  lights  :  who  ftays 
Here  long,  muft  pafle 


Saints. 


O’re  dark  hills,  swift  ftreams,  and  fteep  ways 
As  smooth  as  glafle  ; 

But  these  all  night, 

Like  candles,  fhed 
Their  beams,  and  light 
Us  into  bed. 

They  are  indeed  our  pillar-fires. 

Seen  as  we  go  ; 

They  are  that  citie’s  fhining  spires 
We  travell  to. 

A  sword-like  gleame 
Kept  man  from  fin 
Firfl:  out;  this  beame 
Will  guide  him  in. 

Henry  Vaughan.  1621--1695. 

MY  LOVE. 

Not  as  all  other  women  are 

Is  fhe  that  to  my  soul  is  dear ; 

Her  glorious  fancies  come  from  far, 

Beneath  the  filver  evening  ftar. 

And  yet  her  heart  is  ever  near. 

Great  feelings  hath  fhe  of  her  own. 

Which  lefTer  souls  may  never  know ; 

5 


66  Saints. 


God  giveth  them  to  her  alone, 

And  sweet  they  are  as  any  tone 
Wherewith  the  wind  may  choose  to  blow. 

Yet  in  herself  fhe  dwelleth  not, 

Although  no  home  were  half  so  fair ; 

No  fimpleft  duty  is  forgot. 

Life  hath  no  dim  and  lowly  spot 
That  doth  not  in  her  sunfhine  fhare. 

She  doeth  little  kindnelTes 

Which  moft  leave  undone  or  despise ; 

For  naught  that  sets  one  heart  at  ease. 
And  giveth  happiness  or  peace. 

Is  low-efteem^d  in  her  eyes. 

She  hath  no  scorn  of  common  things. 
And,  though  fhe  seem  of  other  birth. 
Round  us  her  heart  entwines  and  clings. 
And  patiently  fhe  folds  her  wings 
To  tread  the  humble  paths  of  earth. 

Bleffing  fhe  is  :  God  made  her  so. 

And  deeds  of  week-day  holinefs 
Fall  from  her  noiselefs  as  the  snow, 

Nor  hath  fhe  ever  chanced  to  know 
That  aught  were  eafier  than  to  blefs. 

She  is  moft  fair,  and  thereunto 
Her  life  doth  rightly  harmonize  ; 


Saints. 


67 


Feeling  or  thought  that  was  not  true 
Ne’er  made  lefs  beautiful  the  blue 
Unclouded  heaven  of  her  eyes. 

She  is  a  woman  :  one  in  whom 
The  spring-time  of  her  childifh  years 
Hath  never  loft  its  frefli  perfume, 

Though  knowing  well  that  life  hath  room 
For  many  blights  and  many  tears. 

I  love  her  with  a  love  as  ftill 
As  a  broad  river’s  peaceful  might, 

Which,  by  high  tower  and  lowly  mill. 

Goes  wandering  at  its  own  will. 

And  yet  doth  ever  flow  aright. 

And,  on  its  full,  deep  breaft  serene. 

Like  quiet  ifles  my  duties  lie  ; 

It  flows  around  them  and  between. 

And  makes  them  frefh,  and  fair,  and  green, 
Sweet  homes  wherein  to  live  and  die. 


y.  R.  Lowell. 


68  Saints. 


THE  UPRIGHT  SOUL. 

Late  to  our  town  there  came  a  maid, 
A  noble  woman,  true  and  pure. 

Who  in  the  little  while  fhe  ftayed. 
Wrought  works  that  fhall  endure. 

It  was  not  anything  ftie  said  — 

It  was  not  anything  flie  did  : 

It  was  the  movement  of  her  head  — 

The  lifting  of  her  lid. 

Her  little  motions  when  fhe  spoke, 

The  presence  of  an  upright  soul. 

The  living  light  that  from  her  broke. 

It  was  the  perfeil  whole  : 

We  saw  it  in  her  floating  hair. 

We  saw  it  in  her  laughing  eye; 

For  every  look  and  feature  there. 

Wrought  works  that  cannot  die. 

For  fhe  to  many  spirits  gave 

A  reverence  for  the  true,  the  pure. 

The  perfedf,  — ‘  that  has  power  to  save. 
And  make  the  doubting  sure. 


Saints. 


She  paffed  —  fhe  went  to  other  lands, 

She  knew  not  of  the  work  fhe  did ; 

The  wondrous  produdt  of  her  hands, 

From  her  is  ever  hid. 

Forever,  did  I  say  ?  O,  no  ! 

The  time  mult  come  when  fhe  will  look 

Upon  her  pilgrimage  below. 

And  find  it  in  God’s  book. 

That,  as  fhe  trod  her  path  aright. 

Power  from  her  very  garments  flole  ; 

For  such  is  the  myfterious  might 
God  grants  the  upright  soul, 

A  deed,  a  word,  our  carelefs  reft, 

A  fimple  thought,  a  common  feeling. 

If  He  be  present  in  the  breaft. 

Has  from  Him  powers  of  healing. 

Go,  maiden,  with  thy  golden  trefTes, 

Thine  azure  eye  and  changing  cheek. 

Go,  and  forget  the  one  who  blefles 
Thy  presence  through  the  week. 

Forget  him:  he  will  not  forget. 

But  ftrive  to  live  and  teftify 

Thy  goodnefs,  when  Earth’s  sun  has  set. 

And  Time  itself  rolled  by. 

'  y.  H.  Perkins. 


70 


Saints. 


THE  AGED  PATRIARCH. 


OF  life’s  paft  woes  the  fading  trace. 

Hath  given  that  aged  patriarch’s  face 
Expreffion  holy,  deep,  refigned  — 

The  calm  sublimity  of  mind. 

Years  o’er  his  snowy  head  have  paft. 

And  left  him  of  his  race  the  laft. 

Alone  on  earth,  but  yet  his  mien 
Is  bright  with  majefty  serene  ; 

And  those  high  hopes,  whose  guiding  ftar 
Shines  from  eternal  worlds  afar, 

Have  with  that  light  illumined  his  eye 
Whose  fount  is  immortality ; 

And  o’er  his  features  poured  a  ray 
Of  glory,  not  to  pafs  away. 

He  seems  a  being  who  hath  known 
Communion  with  his  God  alone  ; 

On  earth  by  nought  but  pity’s  tie. 

Detained  a  moment  from  on  high. 

One  to  sublimer  worlds  allied, 

One  from  all  paffions  purified. 

Even  now  half  mingled  with  the  fky. 

And  all  prepared,  oh,  not  to  die. 

But,  like  the  prophet,  to  aspire 
To  heaven’s  triumphal  car  of  fire! 

Airs,  Hemans. 


Saints. 


7» 


AN  EPITAPH. 

The  modeft  front  of  this  small  floor 
Believe  me,  reader,  can  say  more 
Than  many  a  braver  marble  can, — 

“  Here  lies  a  truly  honefl:  man  !  ” 

One  whose  conscience  was  a  thing 
That  troubled  neither  church  nor  king  ; 
One  of  those  few  that  in  this  town 
Honour  all  preachers,  hear  their  own. 
Sermons  he  heard,  yet  not  so  many 
As  left  no  time  to  pradfice  any  ; 

He  heard  them  reverently,  and  then 
His  pradfice  preach’d  them  o’er  again  ; 
His  parlour-sermons  rather  were 
Those  to  the  eye,  than  to  the  ear  ; 

His  prayers  took  their  price  and  flrength 
Not  from  the  loudnefs  nor  the  length  ; 
He  was  a  proteftant  at  home, 

Not  only  in  despite  of  Rome  ; 

He  loved  his  father,  yet  his  zeal 
Tore  not  off  his  mother’s  veil  ; 

To  th’  church  he  did  allow  her  drefs. 
True  beauty  to  true  holinefs  ; 

Peace,  which  he  loved  in  life,  did  lend 
Her  hand  to  bring  him  to  his  end  ; 


72  Saints. 

When  age  and  death  call’d  for  the  score, 

No  surfeits  were  to  reckon  for  ; 

Death  tore  not,  therefore,  but,  sans  ftrife. 
Gently  untwined  his  thread  of  life. 

What  remains,  then,  but  that  thou 
Write  these  lines,  reader,  on  thy  brow. 

And,  by  his  fair  example’s  light. 

Burn  in  thy  imitation  bright  ? 

So,  while  these  lines  can  but  bequeath 
A  life,  perhaps,  unto  his  death. 

His  better  epitaph  fhall  be  — 

His  life  ftill  kept  alive  in  thee. 

Richard  Crajhaw.  1637—1650. 


THE  TOUCHSTONE. 

A  MAN  there  came,  whence  none  could  tell. 
Bearing  a  touchftone  in  his  hand  ; 

And  tefted  all  things  in  the  land 
By  its  unerring  spell. 

Quick  birth  of  transmutation  smote 

The  fair  to  foul,  the  foul  to  fair  ; 

Purple  nor  ermine  did  he  spare. 

Nor  scorn  the  dufty  coat. 


Saints, 


73 


Of  heirloom  jewels,  prized  so  much, 

Were  many  changed  to  chips  and  clods. 
And  even  ftatues  of  the  gods 
Crumbled  beneath  its  touch. 

Then  angrily  the  people  cried, — 

“The  lofs  outweighs  the  profit  far; 

Our  goods  suffice  us  as  they  are  ; 

We  will  not  have  them  tried.” 

And  fince  they  could  not  so  avail 
To  check  this  unrelenting  gueft. 

They  seized  him,  saying  —  “Let  him  tefi: 
How  real  is  our  jail !  ” 

But,  though  they  flew  him  with  the  sword, 
And  in  a  fire  his  Touchftone  burned. 

Its  doings  could  not  be  overturn’d. 

Its  undoings  reftored. 

And  when,  to  flop  all  future  harm. 

They  ftrew’d  its  afhes  on  the  breeze  ; 
They  little  guelT’d  each  grain  of  these 
Convey’d  the  perfedl  charm. 


JVilliam  AUingham. 


74  Contentment, 


CONTENTMENT. 

GRATITUDE  AND  GRACE. 

Alas  these  vifits  rare  and  rude 
Unto  Thy  holy  place  ! 

Our  weak,  wild  burfts  of  gratitude, 

Thy  calm,  clear  deeps  of  grace. 

Oh,  never  ftiall  Thy  mercy  make 
Our  souls  to  reft  in  Thine  ? 

Nor  mortal  gratitude  partake 
The  flow  of  grace  divine  ? 

When  ftiall  our  grateful  raptures  rise 
Faft  as  Thy  grace  descends, 

And  link  to  endlefs  harmonies 
The  love  that  never  ends  ? 

T,  H.  Gill. 


VL.  ■ 


Contentment. 


75 


CONTENT. 

PEACE,  muttering  thoughts  !  and  do  not  grudge 
to  keep 

Within  the  walls  of  your  own  breaft. 

Who  cannot  on  his  own  bed  sweetly  deep 
Can  on  another’s  hardly  reft. 

Gad  not  abroad  at  every  queft  and  call 
Of  an  untrained  hope  or  paffion. 

To  court  each  place  or  fortune  that  doth  fall, 

Is  wantonnefs  in  contemplation. 

Mark,  how  the  fire  in  flints  doth  quiet  lie 
Content  and  warm  t’  itself  alone  ; 

But  when  it  would  appear  to  others’  eye. 

Without  a  knock  it  never  fhone. 

Give  me  the  pliant  mind,  whose  gentle  measure 
Complies  and  suits  with  all  eftates  ; 

Which  can  let  loose  to  a  crown,  and  yet  with 
pleasure 

Take  up  within  a  cloifter’s  gates. 

This  soul  doth  span  the  world,  and  hang  content 
From  either  pole  unto  the  centre: 


Contentment . 


Where,  in  each  room  of  the  well-furnifhed  tent, 

He  lies  warm  and  without  adventure. 

Then  cease  discourfing,  soul  ;  till  thine  own  ground. 

Do  not  thyself  or  friends  importune. 

He  that,  by  seeking,  hath  himself  once  found, 

Hath  ever  found  a  happy  fortune. 

George  Herbert,  1593—1635. 

POVERTY. 

SOME  think  there  is  no  earthly  ftate 
To  be  abhorred  more. 

Or  more  deserving  fear  or  hate, 

Than  to  be  mean  and  poor  : 

Yet  such  a  portion  I  have  got, 

That  I  am  needy  made  5 
Yea,  this  is  fallen  to  my  lot, 

And  yet  I  am  not  sad. 

For  earth  and  all  that  therein  is, 

The  Lord’s  pofleilions  be  ; 

Both  He  is  mine  and  I  am  His, 

Who  hath  enough  for  me  : 

The  rich  their  own  providers  are. 

Yet  sometimes  they  have  need  j 
But  God  hath  of  the  poor  a  care. 

And  them  doth  always  feed. 


Contentment,  77 

Though  poverty  seem  grievous  may, 

And  much  affli6^eth  some, 

It  is  the  heft  and  safeft  way 

Unto  the  world  to  come  ; 

^  » 

For  poverty  in  her  extreme. 

Nor  tempts  nor  so  perverts. 

As  great  abundance  tempteth  them 
Who  thereon  set  their  hearts. 

Therefore,  that  every  man  might  grow 
With  his  eftate  content ; 

Thy  Son,  O  God  !  this  way  did  go. 

When  through  this  world  He  went ; 

He  wealth  and  honor  prized  not. 

Though  we  now  prize  it  high. 

And  Satan,  therefore,  nothing  got 
By  tempting  Him  thereby. 

Lord  !  though  I  do  sometimes  complain 
That  outward  means  are  scant. 

And  would  aflume  that  luggage  fain. 

Which  I  but  think  I  want ; 

Yet  when  I  mind  how  poor  a  life 
My  Saviour  lived  on  earth. 

Wealth  I  condemn,  and  all  my  grief 
Is  changed  into  mirth. 

Let  ftill  my  heart  be  pleased  so. 

Whatever  betide  me  fhall ; 

Yea,  make  me,  though  I  poorer  grow. 
Contented  therewithal  : 


Contentment. 


And  let  me  not  be  one  of  them 
Who,  in  profeffion  poor, 

Seem  wealth  and  pleasure  to  contemn. 
That  they  may  cheat  the  more. 

The  works  my  calling  doth  propose. 
Let  me  not  idly  {hun  ; 

For  he  whom  idlenefs  undoes. 

Is  more  than  twice  undone  : 

If  my  eftate  enlarge  I  may. 

Enlarge  my  love  to  Thee  ; 

And  though  I  more  and  more  decay. 
Yet  let  me  thankful  be. 

For  be  we  poor  or  be  we  rich. 

If  well  employ’d  we  are. 

It  neither  helps  nor  hinders  much. 
Things  needful  to  prepare  j 
Since  God  disposeth  riches  now, 

As  manna  heretofore. 

The  feebleft  gath’rer  got  enow. 

The  ftrongeft  got  no  more. 

Nor  poverty  nor  wealth  is  that 
Whereby  we  may  acquire 
That  blelTed  and  moft  happy  ftate. 
Whereto  we  fhould  aspire  ; 

But  if  Thy  Spirit  make  me  wise. 

And  ftrive  to  do  my  beft. 

There  may  be  in  the  word  of  these 
A  means  of  being  blefT’d. 


Contentment,  79 

_  _  \ 

The  rich  in  love  obtain  from  Thee 

Thy  special  gifts  of  grace  ; 

The  poor  in  spirit  those  men  be 
Who  fhall  behold  Thy  face  : 

Lord  !  grant  I  may  be  one  of  these, 

Thus  poor,  or  else  thus  rich  ; 

E’en  whether  of  the  two  Thou  please, 

I  care  not  greatly  which. 

George  Wither, 

GIVE  US  OUR  DAILY  BREAD. 

Day  by  day  the  manna  fell ; 

O,  to  learn  this  lelTon  well  ! 

Still  by  conftant  mercy  fed, 

Give  us.  Lord,  our  daily  bread. 

“  Day  by  day  ”  the  promise  reads  ; 

Daily  ftrength  for  daily  needs  : 

Caft  foreboding  fears  away  ; 

Take  the  manna  of  to-day  ! 

Lord,  our  times  are  in  thy  hand  ; 

All  our  sanguine  hopes  have  planned. 

To  thy  wisdom  we  refign. 

And  would  mould  our  wills  to  thine. 

Thou  our  daily  talk  {halt  give  ; 

Day  by  day  to  thee  we  live  ; 


8o  Contentment. 


So  fhall  added  years  fulfil 

Not  our  own,  our  Father’s  will. 

O,  to  live  exempt  from  care, 

By  the  energy  of  prayer ; 

Strong  in  faith,  with  mind  subdued. 
Glowing  yet  with  gratitude  ! 

Conder. 


RECONCILED. 

O  YEARS  gone  down  into  the  paft  ; 

What  pleasant  memories  come  to  me. 
Of  your  untroubled  days  of  peace. 

And  hours  of  almoft  ecftacy  ! 

Yet  would  I  have  no  moon  ftand  ftill. 
Where  life’s  moft  pleasant  valleys  lie  ; 
Nor  wheel  the  planet  of  the  day 

Back  on  his  pathway  through  the  fky. 

For  though,  when  youthful  pleasures  died. 
My  youth  itself  went  with  them,  too  j 
To-day,  aye  !  even  this  very  hour. 

Is  the  beft  hour  I  ever  knew. 

Not  that  my  Father  gives  to  me 

More  bleflings  than  in  days  gone  by. 


Contentment. 


8i 


Dropping  in  my  uplifted  hands 

All  things  for  which  I  blindly  cry  ; 

But  that  His  plans  and  purposes 

Have  grown  to  me  lefs  ftrange  and  dimj 

And  where  I  cannot  underftand, 

I  truft  the  iflues  unto  Him. 

And  spite  of  many  broken  dreams, 

This  have  I  truly  learned  to  say  — 

Prayers  which  I  thought  unanswered  once 
Were  answered  in  God’s  own  heft  way. 

And  though  some  hopes  I  cherifhed  once, 
Perifhed  untimely  in  their  birth. 

Yet  have  I  been  beloved  and  bleft 
Beyond  the  measure  of  my  worth. 

And  sometimes  in  my  hours  of  grief 
For  moments,  I  have  come  to  ftand 

Where,  in  the  sorrows  on  me  laid, 

I  felt  the  chaftening  of  God’s  hand  ;  — 

Then  learned  I  that  the  weakeft  ones 
Are  kept  secureft  from  life’s  harms  ; 

And  that  the  tender  lambs  alone 
Are  carried  in  the  fhepherd’s  arms. 

And,  fitting  by  the  wayfide  blind. 

He  is  the  neareft  to  the  light. 


6 


82  Contentment, 


Who  crieth  out  moft  earneftly, 

“  Lord,  that  I  might  receive  my  fight 

O  feet,  grown  weary  as  ye  walk. 

When  down  life’s  hill  my  pathway  lies. 

What  care  I,  while  my  soul  can  mount 
As  the  young  eagle  mounts  the  Ikies  ? 

O  eyes,  with  weeping  faded  out, 

What  matters  it  how  dim  ye  be  ? 

My  inner  vifion  sweeps  untired 
The  reaches  of  eternity  ! 

O  death,  moft  dreaded  power  of  all. 

When  the  laft  moment  comes,  and  thou 

Darkeneft  the  windows  of  my  soul. 

Through  which  I  look  on  Nature  now  ; 

Yea,  when  mortality  dilTolves, 

Shall  I  not  meet  thine  hour  unawed  ? 

My  house  eternal  in  the  heavens. 

Is  lighted  by  the  smile  of  God  ! 

Phcebe  Carey, 


Contentment, 


CONTENT  AND  RICH. 


I  DWELL  in  grace’s  courts, 

Enriched  with  virtue’s  rights  ; 

Faith  guides  my  wit,  love  leads  my  will, 
Hope  all  my  mind  delights.  • 

In  lowly  vales  I  mount 

To  pleasure’s  higheft  pitch. 

My  fimple  drefs  sure  honor  brings. 

My  poor  eftate  is  rich. 

My  conscience  is  my  crown. 

Contented  thoughts  my  reft. 

My  heart  is  happy  in  itself. 

My  blifs  is  in  my  breaft. 

Enough,  I  reckon  wealth  ; 

A  mean,  the  sureft  lot. 

That  lies  too  high  for  base  contempt. 
Too  low  for  envy’s  fliot. 

My  wifties  are  but  few, 

All  easy  to  fulfil ; 

I  make  the  limits  of  my  power 
The  bounds  unto  my  will. 


84 


Contentment, 


I  have  no  hopes  but  one, 

'  Which  is  of  heavenly  reign  : 

Effe6fs  attained,  or  not  defired. 

All  lower  hopes  refrain. 

I  feel  no  care  of  coin. 

Well-doing  is  my  wealth: 

My  mind  to  me  an  empire  is. 

While  grace  afFordeth  health. 

I  clip  high-climbing  thoughts, 

1  The  wings  of  swelling  pride : 

Their  fate  is  worft,  that  from  the  height 
Of  greater  honor  Aide. 

Silk  sails  of  largeft  fize 
The  ftorm  doth  sooneft  tear  : 

I  bear  so  low  and  small  a  sail 
;  As  freeth  me  from  fear. 

I  wreftle  not  with  rage 

While  fury’s  flame  doth  burn  ; 

It  is  in  vain  to  flop  the  ftream 
■  Until  the  tide  doth  turn. 

But  when  the  flame  is  out. 

And  ebbing  wrath  doth  end, 

I  turn  a  late-enraged  foe 
Into  a  quiet  friend  ; 


L 


Contentment. 


85 


And,  taught  with  often  proof, 

A  tempered  calm  I  find 

To  be  mofi:  solace  to  itself, 

Befl:  cure  for  angry  mind. 

Spare  diet  is  my  fare. 

My  clothes  more  fit  than  fine ; 

I  know  I  feed  and  clothe  a  foe 
That,  pampered,  would  repine. 

I  envy  not  their  hap 

Whom  favor  doth  advance  : 

I  take  no  pleasure  in  their  pain 
That  have  lefs  happy  chance. 

To  rise  by  others’  fall 
I  deem  a  lofing  gain  : 

All  ftates  with  others’  ruins  built 
To  ruins  run  amain. 

,  No  change  of  fortune’s  calms 
Can  caft  my  comforts  down  : 

When  fortune  smiles,  I  smile  to  think 
How  quickly  fhe  will  frown  ; 

f 

And  when,  in  froward  mood. 

She  proved  an  angry  foe. 

Small  gain  I  found  to  let  her  come, 

Lefs  lofs  to  let  her  go. 

Robert  Southwell.  1562—1594. 


86 


Contentment. 


FOR  A  SERVANT. 

Discourage  not  thyself,  my  soul, 

Nor  murmur,  though  compeH’d  we  be 
To  live  subjedled  to  control. 

When  many  others  may  be  free  ; 

For  though  the  pride  of  some  disdains 
Our  means  and  much  despised  lot. 

We  fhall  not  lose  our  honeft  pains. 

Nor  fhall  our  sulFrance  be  forgot. 

To  be  a  servant  is  not  base. 

If  basenefs  be  not  in  the  mind, 

P'or  servants  make  but  good  the  place. 
Whereto  their  Maker  them  affign’d  : 

The  greateft  princes  do  no  more. 

And  if  fincerely  I  obey. 

Though  I  am  now  despised  and  poor, 

I  fhall  become  as  great  as  they. 

The  Lord  of  heav’n  and  earth  was  pleased 
A  servant’s  form  to  undertake  ; 

By  His  endurance  I  am  eased. 

And  serve  with  gladnefs  for  His  sake  : 
Though  check’d  unjuftly  I  fhould  be. 

With  filence  I  reproofs  will  bear. 


Contentment. 


87 


For  much  more  injured  was  He 
Whose  deeds  moft  worthy  praises  were. 

He  was  reviled,  yet  naught  replied, 

And  I  will  imitate  the  same  ; 

For  though  some  faults  may  be  denied. 

In  part  I  always  faulty  am  : 

Content  with  meek  and  humble  heart, 

I  will  abide  in  my  degree. 

And  a61:  an  humble  servant’s  part. 

Till  God  fhall  call  me  to  be  free. 

George  Wither. 


SCORN  NOT  THE  LEAST. 

WHEN  words  are  weak  and  foes  encount’ring 
ftrong. 

Where  mightier  do  alTault  than  do  defend. 

The  feebler  part  puts  up  enforced  wrong. 

And  filent  sees  that  speech  could  not  amend. 

Yet  higher  powers  moft  think  though  they  repine, — 
When  sun  is  set,  the  little  ftars  will  fhine. 

While  pike  doth  range,  the  filly  tench  doth  fly. 

And  crouch  in  privy  creeks  with  smaller  fifh  ; 

Yet  pikes  are  caught  when  little  fifh  go  by; 

These  fleet  afloat  while  those  do  fill  the  difti. 


88 


Contentment. 


There  is  a  time  even  for  the  worms  to  creep, 
And  suck  the  dew  while  all  their  foes  do  fleep. 

The  merlin  cannot  ever  soar  on  high, 

Nor  greedy  greyhound  ftill  pursue  the  chase  ; 
The  tender  lark  will  find  a  time  to  fly, 

And  fearful  hare  to  run  a  quiet  race. 

He  that  high-growth  on  cedars  did  beftow, 

Gave  also  lowly  mufhrooms  leave  to  grow. 

In  Haman’s  pomp  poor  Mardocheus  wept, 

Yet  God  did  turn  his  fate  upon  his  foe; 

The  Lazar  pined  while  Dives’  feaft  was  kept, 
Yet  he  to  heaven,  to  hell  did  Dives  go. 

We  trample  grafs,  and  prize  the  flowers  of  May, 
Yet  grafs  is  green  when  flowers  do  fade  away. 


Robert  Southwell. 


Contentment. 


89 


RESIGNATION. 

SAY,  Reader  !  canfl:  thou  bear  and  not  complain, 
Griefs  filent  languor,  or  the  hour  of  pain  ; 

One  small  fick-room,  with  noiselefs  footftep  tread. 
And  raise  in  peaceful  hope  the  aching  head  ; 

Smile  at  the  joy  it  is  not  thine  to  fhare. 

And  make  another’s  pleasure  soothe  thy  care  ? 

Canft  thou,  while  they  beguile  the  weary  hours 
With  Nature’s  charm  of  sunfhine,  air,  and  flowers, 
Refigned,  {fill  quaff  thy  daily  draught,  nor  mourn 
O’er  days  long  pafl:,  that  never  can  return  ? 

Say,  canfl:  thou  look,  with  calm  and  tearlefs  eyes. 
On  thy  imprisoned  days,  and  nights  of  flghs  ? 

Nor  of  each  friend  who  calls,  implore  the  fkill. 

And  watch  the  glance  that  dooms  thee  well  or  ill  ? 
Hold  out  the  feverifh  hand,  nor  ffart  to  see 
A  face  that  changes  on  beholding  thee  ? 

Firm  in  thy  God,  and  in  thy  heavenly  trufl:, 

Canfl  thou  remember  fearlefs  thou  art  dull  ? 

Look  to  the  future,  glad  and  undismayed. 

And,  smiling,  see  thy  life  recede  in  fhade  ? 

Then,  Reader,  go — the  world  to  thee  can  bring 
In  trials,  woes,  temptations,  not  one  fling. 


go  Contentment, 


ALL’S  WELL. 

SWEET-voiced  Hope,  thy  fine  discourse 
Foretold  not  half  life’s  good  to  me: 
Thy  painter,  Fancy,  hath  not  force 
To  fhow  how  sweet  it  is  to  Be! 

Thy  witching  dream 
And  pidfured  scheme 
To  match  the  fadf  ftlll  want  the  power  j 
Thy  promise  brave 
From  birth  to  grave 
Life’s  boon  may  beggar  in  an  hour. 

Afk  and  receive,  —  ’tis  sweetly  said; 

Yet  what  to  plead  for  know  I  not; 
For  Wifh  is  worfled,  Hope  o’ersped. 

And  aye  to  thanks  returns  my  thought. 
If  I  would  pray, 

I ’ve  nought  to  say 

But  this,  that  God  may  be  God  flill ; 

For  Him  to  live 
Is  ftill  to  give. 

And  sweeter  than  my  wifh  His  will. 

Oh  wealth  of  life,  beyond  all  bound  I 
Eternity  each  moment  given  I 


V 


Contentment, 


91 

What  plummet  may  the  Present  sound  ? 

Who  promises  a  future  heaven  ? 

Or  glad,  or  grieved, 

Opprefled,  relieved. 

In  blackeft  night,  or  brighteft  day, 

Still  pours  the  flood 
Of  golden  good. 

And  more  than  heart-full  fills  me  aye. 

My  wealth  is  common  ;  I  polTefs 

No  petty  province,  but  the  whole; 

What’s  mine  alone  is  mine  far  lefs 

Than  treasure  fhared  by  every  soul. 

Talk  not  of  ftore. 

Millions  or  more,  — 

Of  values  which  the  purse  may  hold,  — 

But  this  divine  ! 

I  own  the  mine 

Whose  grains  outweigh  a  planet’s  gold. 

I  have  a  flake  in  every  ftar. 

In  every  beam  that  fills  the  day  ; 

All  hearts  of  men  my  coffers  are. 

My  ores  arterial  tides  convey ; 

The  fields,  the  fkies,  ^ 

And  sweet  replies 

Of  thought  to  thought  are  my  gold  duff, — 

The  oaks,  the  brooks. 

And  speaking  looks 
Of  lovers’  faith  and  friendfhip’s  truff. 


92 


Contentment. 


Life’s  youngefl  tides  joy-brimming  flow 
For  him  who  lives  above  all  years, 

Who  all-immortal  makes  the  Now, 

And  is  not  ta’en  in  Time’s  arrears  : 

His  life’s  a  hymn 
The  seraphim 

Might  hark  to  hear  or  help  to  fing. 

And  to  his  soul 
The  boundlefs  whole 
Its  bounty  all  doth  daily  bring. 

“  All  mine  is  thine,”  the  fky-soul  saith  : 

‘‘  The  wealth  I  am,  mufl:  thou  become  : 
Richer  and  richer,  breath  by  breath,  — 

Immortal  gain,  immortal  room!” 

And  fince  all  his 
Mine  also  is. 

Life’s  gift  outruns  my  fancies  far. 

And  drowns  the  dream 
In  larger  ftream. 

As  morning  drinks  the  morning  ftar. 

D.  A.  IVaJfon. 


Trujf. 


TRUST. 

AT  SEA. 

The  night  was  made  for  cooling  (hade 
For  filence,  and  for  deep  ; 

And  when  I  was  a  child,  I  laid 
My  hands  upon  my  bread:,  and  prayed. 

And  sank  to  flumbers  deep. 

Childlike,  as  then,  I  lie  to-night. 

And  watch  my  lonely  cabin-light. 

Each  movement  of  the  swaying  lamp 
Shows  how  the  veflel  reels. 

And  o’er  her  deck  the  billows  tramp. 

And  all  her  timbers  drain  and  cramp 
With  every  diock  die  feels  ; 

It  diarts  and  diudders,  while  it  burns. 

And  in  its  hinged  socket  turns. 

Now  swinging  dow,  and  danting  low. 

It  almod:  level  lies  : 


And  yet  I  know,  while  to  and  fro 
I  watch  the  seeming  pendule  go 
With  reftlefs  fall  and  rise, 

The  fteady  fhaft  is  ftill  upright, 

Poifing  its  little  globe  of  light. 

O  hand  of  God  !  O  lamp  of  peace  ! 

O  promise  of  my  soul  ! 

Though  weak  and  tolTed,  and  ill  at  ease 
Amid  the  roar  of  smiting  seas  — 

The  fhip’s  convulfive  roll  — 

I  own,  with  love  and  tender  awe. 

Yon  perfect  type  of  faith  and  law. 

A  heavenly  truft  my  spirit  calms  — 

My  soul  is  filled  with  light ; 

The  ocean  fings  his  solemn  psalms; 

The  wild  winds  chant ;  I  crofs  my  palms  ; 

Happy,  as  if  to-night. 

Under  the  cottage  roof  again, 

I  heard  the  soothing  summer  rain. 

y.  T.  Trowbridge. 


95 


Truji. 


THE  PEACE  OF  GOD. 


WE  afk  for  Peace,  O  Lord ! 

Thy  children  afk  Thy  peace ; 

Not  what  the  world  calls  reft, 

That  toil  and  care  ftiould  cease. 

That  through  bright  sunny  hours 
Calm  Life  ftiould  fleet  away. 

And  tranquil  night  ftiould  fade 
In  smiling  day, — 

It  is  not  for  such  Peace  that  we  would  pray. 


We  afk  for  Peace,  O  Lord! 

Yet  not  to  ftand  secure. 

Girt  round  with  iron  Pride, 

Contented  to  endure  : 

Crufhing  the  gentle  ftrings. 

That  human  hearts  ftiould  know. 
Untouched  by  others’  joys 
Or  others’  woe  j  — 

Thou,  O  dear  Lord,  wilt  never  teach  us  so. 

We  afk  Thy  Peace,  O  Lord! 

Through  ftorm,  and  fear,  and  ftrife. 
To  light  and  guide  us  on. 

Through  a  long  ftruggling  life : 


96  Truji. 

While  no  succefs  or  gain 

Shall  cheer  the  desperate  fight, 

Or  nerve,  what  the  world  calls. 

Our  wafted  might : 

Yet  prefting  through  the  darknefs  to  the  light. 

It  is  Thine  own,  O  Lord ! 

Who  toil  while  others  fleep. 

Who  sow  with  loving  care 
What  other  hands  fhall  reap  : 

They  lean  on  Thee,  entranced 
In  calm  and  perfedl  reft  : 

Give  us  that  Peace,  O  Lord  ! 

Divine  and  bleft. 

Thou  keepeft  for  those  hearts  who  love  Thee  beft. 

A.  A,  ProSfor. 

- - 

CHILDLIKE  SUBMISSION. 

WHAT  pleases  God,  O  pious  soul. 

Accept  with  joy ;  though  thunders  roll 
And  tempefts  lower  on  every  fide, 

Thou  knoweft  nought  can  thee  betide 
But  pleases  God. 

The  beft  will  is  our  Father’s  will. 

And  we  may  reft  there  calm  and  ftill. 


97 


"1 


Trujf. 


Oh  make  it  hour  by  hour  thine  own, 

And  wifh  for  nought  but  that  alone, 
Which  pleases  God. 

His  thought  is  aye  the  wiseft  thought  ; 
How  oft  man’s  wisdom  comes  to  nought  j 
Miftake  or  weaknefs  in  it  lurks, 

It  brings  forth  ill,  and  seldom  works 
What  pleases  God. 

His  mind  is  aye  the  gentled:  mind. 

His  will  and  deeds  are  ever  kind, 

He  bleffes  when  againft  us  speaks 
The  evil  world,  that  rarely  seeks 
What  pleases  God. 

His  heart  is  aye  the  trueft  heart. 

He  bids  all  woe  and  harm  depart, 
Descending,  fhielding  day  and  night 
The  man  who  knows  and  loves  aright 
What  pleases  God. 

He  governs  all  things  here  below. 

In  him  lie  all  our  weal  and  woe, 

He  bears  the  world  within  His  hand, 

And  so  to  us  bear  sea  and  land 
What  pleases  God. 

And  o’er  His  little  flock  He  yearns, 

And  when  to  evil  ways  it  turns, 

7 


98  TruJ}. 

The  Father’s  rod  oft  smiteth  sore, 

Until  it  learns  to  do  once  more 
What  pleases  God. 

What  moft  would  profit  us  He  knows, 
And  ne’er  denies  aught  good  to  those 
Who  with  their  utmoft  ftrength  pursue 
The  right,  and  only  care  to  do 
What  pleases  God. 

If  this  be  so,  then.  World,  from  me 
Keep,  if  thou  wilt,  what  pleases  thee  ; 
But  thou,  my  soul,  be  well  content 
With  God  and  all  things  He  hath  sent ; 
As  pleases  God. 

And  mufl  thou  suffer  here  and  there. 
Cling  but  the  firmer  to  His  care, 

For  all  things  are  beneath  His  sway. 
And  muft  in  very  truth  obey 
What  pleases  God. 

True  faith  will  grasp  His  mercy  faft. 
And  hope  bring  patience  at  the  laft. 
Then  both  within  thy  heart  enfhrine. 

So  (hall  the  heritage  be  thine 
That  pleases  God. 

To  thee  for  ever  fhall  be  given 
A  kingdom  and  a  crown  in  heaven. 


Truji. 


99 


And  there  (hall  be  fulfill’d  in  thee 
And  thou  ftialt  tafte  and  hear  and  see 
What  pleases  God. 

Paul  Gerhardt^  ^^53* 


ISAIAH,  3:  10. 

WHAT  cheering  words  are  these; 

Their  sweetnefs  who  can  tell  ! 

In  time  and  to  eternal  days, 

“  ’T  is  with  the  righteous  well.” 

In  every  flate  secure, 

Kept  as  Jehovah’s  eye, 

’T  is  well  with  them  while  life  endures. 
And  well  when  called  to  die. 

Well  when  they  see  His  face. 

Or  fink  amidfl:  the  flood  ; 

Well  in  afflidtion’s  thorny  maze, 

Or  on  the  mount  with  God. 

’T  is  well  when  joys  arise, 

’T  is  well  when  sorrows  flow, 

’T  is  well  when  darknefs  veils  the  Ikies, 
And  ftrong  temptations  grow. 


100  T’ruji. 

’T  is  well  when  Jesus  calls, 

“  From  earth  and  fin  arise, 

To  join  the  hofts  of  ransomed  souls. 
Made  to  salvation  wise.” 


EXODUS,  14;  15. 

I 

WHEN  we  cannot  see  our  way. 
Let  us  truft,  and  ftill  obey ; 
He  who  bids  us  forward  go. 

Cannot  fail  the  way  to  fhow. 

Though  the  sea  be  deep  and  wide. 
Though  a  palTage  seem  denied; 
Fearlefs  let  us  ftill  proceed. 

Since  the  Lord  vouchsafes  to  lead. 

Though  it  seems  the  gloom  of  night. 
Though  we  see  no  ray  of  light ; 

Since  the  Lord  Himself  is  there, 

’T  is  not  meet  that  we  ftiould  fear. 

Night  with  Him  is  never  night. 

Where  He  is,  there  all  is  light; 

When  He  calls  us,  why  delay? 

They  are  happy  who  obey. 


Truji.  10 1 

Be  it  ours,  then,  while  we’re  here,  ' 

Him  to  follow  without  fear  ! 

Where  He  calls  us,  there  to  go, 

What  He  bids  us,  that  to  do. 

I 

* 

MATTHEW  14;  28,  29. 

He  bids  us  come  j  His  voice  we  know. 
And  boldly  on  the  waters  go. 

To  Him  our  Chrift  and  Lord  j 
We  walk  on  life’s  tempeftuous  sea. 

For  He  who  died  to  set  us  free, 

Hath  called  us  by  His  word. 

Secure  from  troubled  waves  we  tread. 

Nor  all  the  (forms  around  us  heed, 

While  to  our  Lord  we  look  ; 

O’er  every  fierce  temptation  bound, 

The  billows  yield  a  solid  ground. 

The  wave  is  firm  as  rock. 

But  if  from  Him  we  turn  our  eye, 

And  see  the  raging  floods  run  high, 

And  feel  our  fears  within  ; 

Our  foes  so  ftrong,  our  flefh  so  frail. 

Reason  and  unbelief  prevail. 

And  fink  us  into  fin. 


102  Truji. 

Lord,  we  our  belief  confefs, 

Our  little  spark  of  faith  increase, 
That  we  may  doubt  no  more  ; 

But  fix  on  Thee  our  fteady  eye. 

And  on  Thine  outftretched  arm  rely. 
Till  all  the  ftorm  is  o’er. 


THE  QUIET,  HOPING  HEART. 


WHATE’ER  my  God  ordains  is  right. 
His  will  is  ever  juft; 

Howe’er  He  order  now  my  cause 
I  will  be  ftill  and  truft. 

He  is  my  God, 

Though  dark  my  road. 

He  holds  me  that  I  ftiall  not  fall. 
Wherefore  to  Him  I  leave  it  all. 


Whate’er  my  God  ordains  is  right. 
He  never  will  deceive  ; 

He  leads  me  by  the  proper  path. 
And  so  to  him  I  cleave. 

And  take  content 
What  He  hath  sent ; 

His  hand  can  turn  my  griefs  away. 
And  patiently  I  wait  His  day. 


Truji.  103 

Whatever  my  God  ordains  is  right. 

He  taketh  thought  for  me, 

The  cup  that  my  phyfician  gives 
No  poison’d  draught  can  be. 

But  medicine  due  j 
For  God  is  true. 

And  on  that  changelefs  truth  I  build. 

And  all  my  heart  with  hope  is  filled. 

Whate’er  my  God  ordains  is  right. 

Though  I  the  cup  muft  drink 
That  bitter  seems  to  my  faint  heart, 

I  will  not  fear  nor  fhrink  \ 

Tears  pafs  away 
With  dawn  of  day. 

Sweet  comfort  yet  fhall  fill  my  heart, 

And  pain  and  sorrow  fhall  depart. 

Whate’er  my  God  ordains  is  right. 

Here  will  I  take  my  ftand  ; 

Though  sorrow,  need,  or  death  make  earth 
For  me  a  desert  land. 

My  Father’s  care 
Is  around  me  there. 

He  holds  me  that  I  fhall  not  fall. 

And  so  to  Him  I  leave  it  all. 

S.  Rod’igaJ}^  *675. 


104  Truji. 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 

ISAY  to  thee,  do  thou  repeat 

To  the  firft  man  thou  mayeft  meet, 
In  lane,  highway,  or  open  llreet  — 

That  he,  and  we,  and  all  men  move 
Under  a  canopy  of  Love, 

As  broad  as  the  blue  fky  above : 

That  doubt  and  trouble^  fear  and  pain^ 
And  angu'ijh^  all  are  sorrows  vain ; 

That  death  itself  Jhall  not  remain: 

That  weary  deserts  we  may  tread, 

A  dreary  labyrinth  may  thread. 

Through  dark  ways  underground  be  led  ; 

Yet,  if  we  will  our  Guide  obey. 

The  drearieft  path,  the  darkeft  way. 

Shall  ilTue  out  in  heavenly  day. 

And  we^  on  divers  Jhores  now  caf^ 

Shall  meet^  our  perilous  voyage  paf^ 

All  in  our  Father* s  home  at  laji. 


Truji.  105 

And  ere  thou  leave  them,  say  thou  this, 

Yet  one  word  more:  —  They  only  mifs 
The  winning  of  that  final  blifs 

Who  will  not  count  it  true  that  Love, 

Blefiing,  not  curfing,  rules  above. 

And  that  in  it  we  live  and  move. 

And  one  thing  further  make  him  know. 

That  to  believe  these  things  are  so. 

This  firm  faith  never  to  forego  — 

Despite  of  all  which  seems  at  ftrife 
With  blefiing,  and  with  curses  rife  — 

That  this  Is  blefiing,  this  is  life. 

Trench. 

*^0 

MY  FATHER’S  AT  THE  HELM. 

^rriWAS  when  the  sea^s  tremendous  roar 
A  A  little  bark  affailed  ; 

And  pallid  fear,  with  awful  power. 

O’er  each  on  board  prevailed  : 

Save  one,  the  captain’s  darling  son. 

Who  fearlefs  viewed  the  ftorm. 

And  playful,  with  composure  smiled 
At  danger’s  threatening  form. 

_ 


io6  'Truft. 


“  Why  sporting  thus,”  a  seaman  cried, 

‘‘  Whilft  sorrows  overwhelm  ?  ” 

‘‘Why  yield  to  grief!”  the  boy  replied, 

“  My  Father ’s  at  the  helm^ 

Despairing  soul !  from  thence  be  taught. 
How  groundlefs  is  thy  fear ; 

Think  on  what  wonders  Chrift  has  wrought, 
And  He  is  always  near. 

Safe  in  His  hands,  whom  seas  obey, 

When  swelling  billows  rise  ; 

Who  turns  the  darkeft  night  to  day, 

And  brightens  lowering  fkies  : 

Though  thy  corruptions  rise  abhorred, 

And  outward  foes  increase  ; 

’T  is  but  for  Him  to  speak  the  word. 

And  all  is  hufhed  to  peace. 

Then  upward  look,  howe’er  diftrefled, 

Jesus  will  guide  thee  home. 

To  that  bleft  port  of  endlefs  reft, 

Where  ftorms  fhall  never  come. 


’Truft.  107 


GRACE  OF  GOD. 

Grace  does  not  fteel  the  faithful  heart, 
That  it  fhould  know  no  ill : 

We  learn  to  kifs  the  chaftening  rod, 

And  feel  its  fharpnefs  ftill. 

But,  ever  as  the  wound  is  given. 

There  is  a  hand  unseen. 

Halting  to  wipe  away  the  scar. 

And  hide  where  it  hath  been. 

The  Chriftian  would  not  have  his  lot 
Be  other  than  it  is  ; 

For,  while  his  Father  rules  the  world. 

He  knows  that  world  is  his. 

He  knows  that  He  who  gave  the  beft. 

Will  give  him  all  befidej 
AfTured  that  every  good  he  afks 
Is  evil,  if  denied. 

When  clouds  of  sorrow  gather  round. 

His  bosom  owns  no  fear  : 

He  knows,  whatever  his  portion  be, 

His  God  will  Hill  be  there. 


lo8  Truji. 

And  when  the  threatened  ftorm  has  burft, 
Whatever  the  trial  be, 

Something  yet  whispers  him  within, 

“Be  ftill,  for  it  is  He!” 

Poor  nature,  ever  weak,  will  fhrink 
From  the  afHidfive  ftroke. 

But  faith  disclaims  the  hafty  plaint 
Impatient  nature  spoke. 

He  knows  it  is  a  Father’s  will. 

And  therefore  it  is  good  : 

Nor  would  he  venture,  by  a  wifh. 

To  change  it  if  he  could. 

His  grateful  bosom  quickly  learns 
I  Its  sorrows  to  disown  ; 

Yields  to  His  pleasure,  and  forgets 
The  choice  was  not  his  own. 

Caroline  Fry, 


lOq 


Truji. 


RESIGNATION. 

I  Peter  5:7. 

Lord,  it  belongs  not  to  my  care, 
Whether  I  die  or  live  : 

To  love  and  serve  thee  is  my  fhare. 

And  this  thy  grace  muft  give. 

If  life  be  long,  I  will  be  glad. 

That  I  may  long  obey  ; 

If  fhort,  yet  why  fhould  I  be  sad 
To  soar  to  endlefs  day  ? 

Chrift  leads  me  through  no  darker  rooms 
Than  he  went  through  before  ; 

He  that  into  God’s  kingdom  comes, 

Muft  enter  by  his  door. 

Come,  Lord,  when  grace  has  made  me  meet 
Thy  blefled  face  to  see  ; 

For  if  thy  work  on  earth  be  sweet. 

What  will  thy  glory  be  ? 

Then  fliall  I  end  my  sad  complaints. 

And  weary,  finful  days  ; 

And  join  with  the  triumphant  saints, 

That  fing  Jehovah’s  praise. 


1 1 0  Truft. 

My  knowledge  of  that  life  is  small, 

The  eye  of  faith  is  dim  ; 

But  ’t  is  enough  that  Chrift  knows  all, 

And  I  fhall  be  with  him. 

R.,  Baxter. 


PEACE  has  unveiled  her  smiling  face. 
And  WOOS  thy  soul  to  her  embrace  : 
Enjoyed  with  ease,  if  thou  refrain 
From  earthly  love  ;  else  sought  in  vain. 
She  dwells  with  all  who  truth  prefer. 

But  seeks  not  them  who  seek  not  her. 


Yield  to  the  Lord,  with  fimple  heart, 

All  that  thou  haft,  and  all  thou  art ; 

Renounce  all  ftrength,  but  ftrength  divine. 

And  peace  ftiall  be  forever  thine  ; 

Behold  the  paths  the  saints  have  trod. 

The  paths  which  led  them  home  to  God. 

Madame  Guyon^  1648—1717. 


'Trufl. 


1 1 1 


THE  PEACE  OF  GOD. 

O  PEACE  of  God,  sweet  peace  of  God  ! 

Where  broods  on  earth  this  gentle  dove  ? 
Where  spread  those  pure  and  downy  wings 
To  fhelter  him  whom  God  doth  love  ? 

Whence  comes  this  bleffing  of  the  soul, 

This  filent  joy  which  cannot  fade  ? 

This  glory,  tranquil,  holy,  bright. 

Pervading  sorrow’s  deepeft  fhade  ? 

The  peace  of  God,  the  peace  of  God  ! 

It  fhines  as  clear  ’mid  cloud  and  ftorm 
As  in  the  calmefl:  summer  day, 

’Mid  chill  as  in  the  sunlight  warm. 

O  peace  of  God  !  earth  hath  no  power 
To  fhed  thine  undlion  o’er  the  heart; 

Its  smile  can  never  bring  it  here, — 

Its  frown  ne’er  bid  its  light  depart. 

Calm  peace  of  God,  in  holy  trufl, 

In  love  and  faith,  thy  presence  dwells, — 

In  patient  suffering  and  toil 

Where  Mercy’s  gentle  tear-drop  swells. 


Truji. 


II2 


Sweet  peace,  I  see  thy  heavenly  ray, 

And  long  to  light  my  taper  there  ; 

Then  fhould  I  meet  the  cares  of  life. 

Like  angels,  answering  to  prayer. 

Jldonthly  Kellglous  Adagazine. 


Affli£iion,  113 


AFFLICTION. 

WORK. 

WHAT  are  we  set  on  earth  for?  Say,  to  toil  — 
Nor  seek  to  leave  thy  tending  of  the  vines, 
For  all  the  heat  o’  the  day,  till  it  declines, 

And  Death’s  wild  curfew  fhall  from  work  aflbil. 

God  did  anoint  thee  with  his  odorous  oil. 

To  wreftle,  not  to  reign;  and  He  affigns 
All  thy  tears  over,  like  pure  cryftallines, 

For  younger  fellow- workers  of  the  soil 
To  wear  for  amulets.  So  others  fhall 
Take  patience,  labor,  to  their  heart  and  hand, 

From  thy  heart,  and  thy  hand,  and  thy  brave  cheer. 
And  God’s  grace  frudlify  through  thee  to  all. 

The  leaf!  flower,  with  a  brimming  cup  may  Hand, 

And  fhare  its  dew-drop  with  another  near. 

JlArs.  E.  B.  Browning, 


8 


1 14  Affli£iion, 


Lord,  fhall  we  grumble  when  thy  flames  do 
scourge  us  ? 

Our  fins  breathe  fire  ;  that  fire  returns  to  purge  us. 
Lord,  what  an  alchymift  art  thou,  whose  fkill 
Transmutes  to  perfedl  good  from  perfedf  ill! 

Francis  Quarles, 

DISCIPLINE. 

Tremble  not,  though  darkly  gather 
Clouds*  and  tempefls  o’er  thy  Iky, 

Still  believe  thy  Heavenly  Father 

Loves  thee  beft  when  ftorms  are  nigh. 

When  the  sun  of  fortune  Ihineth 
Long  and  brightly  on  the  heart. 

Soon  its  fruitfulnefs  declineth. 

Parched  and  dry  in  every  part. 

Then  the  plants  of  grace  have  faded 
In  the  dry  and  burning  soil  ; 

Thorns  and  briers  their  growth  have  Ihaded  — 
Earthly  cares  and  earthly  toil. 


JffiSfion.  1 1 5 

But  the  clouds  are  seen  ascending  ; 

Soon  the  heavens  are  overcaftj 

And  the  weary  heart  is  bending 
’Neath  affliction’s  ftormy  blaft. 

Yet  the  Lord,  on  high  prefiding, 

Rules  the  ftorm  with  powerful  hand  ; 

He  the  fhower  of  grace  is  guiding, 

To  the  dry  and  barren  land. 

See,  at  length  the  clouds  are  breaking  — 
Tempefts  have  not  palT’d  in  vain  j 

For  the  soul,  revived,  awaking. 

Bears  its  fruit  and  flowers  again. 

Love  divine  has  seen  and  counted 
Every  tear  it  caus’d  to  fall. 

And  the  ftorm  which  love  appointed. 

Was  its  choiceft  gift  of  all. 


RESIGNATION. 

IN  trouble  and  in  grief,  O  God, 
Thy  smile  hath  cheered  my  way ; 
And  joy  hath  budded  from  each  thorn 
That  round  my  footfteps  lay. 


A^idion, 


ii6 


The  hours  of  pain  have  yielded  good, 

Which  prosperous  days  refused  ; 

As  herbs,  though  scentlefs  when  entire. 

Spread  fragrance  when  theyVe  bruised. 

The  oak  ftrikes  deeper,  as  its  boughs 
By  furious  blafts  are  driven  ; 

So  life’s  viciffitudes  the  more 
Have  fixed  my  heart  in  heaven. 

All-gracious  Lord  !  whatever  my  lot 
In  other  times  may  be, 

Pll  welcome  ftill  the  heavieft  grief 
That  brings  me  near  to  thee. 

THY  WILL  BE  DONE. 

“  It  is  the  Lord  ;  let  him  do  what  seemeth  to  him  good.”  i  Sam.  3  ;  18. 

My  Jesus,  as  Thou  wilt! 

Oh !  may  Thy  will  be  mine  ! 

Into  Thy  hand  of  love 
I  would  my  all  refign. 

Through  sorrow,  or  through  joy, 

Condudf  me  as  Thine  own. 

And  help  me  {till  to  say. 

My  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done  ! 


Afii£iion. 


117 


My  Jesus,  as  Thou  wilt! 

If  needy  here  and  poor, 

Give  me  Thy  people’s  bread. 

Their  portion  rich  and  sure. 

The  manna  of  Thy  word 
Let  my  soul  feed  upon  ; 

And  if  all  else  fliould  fail  — 

My  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done  I 

My  Jesus,  as  Thou  wilt  ! 

If  among  thorns  I  go. 

Still  sometimes  here  and  there 
Let  a  few  roses  blow. 

But  Thou  on  earth,  along  . 

The  thorny  path  haft  gone. 

Then  lead  me  after  Thee  ; 

My  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done  I 

My  Jesus,  as  Thou  wilt ! 

Though  seen  through  many  a  tear. 
Let  not  my  ftar  of  hope 
Grow  dim  or  disappear. 

Since  Thou  on  earth  haft  wept 
And  sorrowed  oft  alone. 

If  I  muft  weep  with  Thee, 

My  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done  ! 

My  Jesus,  as  Thou  wilt! 

If' loved  ones  muft  depart. 


JffliSlion. 


ii8 


Suffer  not  sorrow’s  flood 
To  overwhelm  my  heart ; 

For  they  are  bleft  with  Thee, 
Their  race  and  conflict  won  : 
Let  me  but  follow  them  ; 

My  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done  ! 

My  Jesus,  as  Thou  wilt! 

When  death  itself  draws  nigh. 
To  thy  dear  wounded  fide 
I  would  for  refuge  fly. 

Leaning  on  Thee,  to  go 

Where  Thou  before  haft  gone ; 
,  The  reft  as  Thou  ftialt  please. 
My  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done  ! 

My  Jesus,  as  Thou  wilt! 

All  ftiall  be  well  for  me  : 

Each  changing  future  scene, 

I  gladly  truft  with  Thee. 
Straight  to  my  home  above 
I  travel  calmly  on. 

And  fing,  in  life  or  death. 

My  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done  ! 


B.  Schmolk. 


Aff,i£iiQn.  119 


SUFFERING  WITH  CHRIST. 

Long  plunged  in  sorrow,  I  refign 

My  soul  to  that  dear  hand  of  Thine, 
Without  reserve  or  fear ; 

That  hand  fhall  wipe  my  ftreaming  eyes. 
Or  into  smiles  of  glad  surprise. 

Transform  the  falling  tear  ! 

My  sole  polTellion  is  Thy  love : 

In  earth  beneath,  or  heaven  above, 

I  have  no  other  ftore  : 

.And  though  with  fervent  suit  I  pray, 

And  importune  thee  night  and  day, 

I  afk  thee  nothing  more. 

My  hours  with  undiminifhed  force 
And  speed  pursue  their  deftined  course. 
Obedient  to  Thy  will : 

Nor  would  I  murmur  at  my  doom. 
Though  ftill  a  sufferer  from  the  womb. 
And  doomed  to  suffer  ftill. 

By  Thy  command,  where’er  I  ftray. 
Sorrow  attends  me  all  my  way, 

A  never  failing  friend  ; 


120  Ajffii^ion. 

And  if  my  sufferings  may  augment 
Thy  praise,  behold  me  well  content  — 

Let  sorrow  ftill  attend  ! 

It  cofts  me  no  regret,  that  fhe 
Who  followed  Chrift  fhould  follow  me ; 

And  though,  where’er  she  goes. 

Thorns  spring  spontaneous  at  her  feet, 

I  love  her,  and  extradf  a  sweet 
From  all  my  bitter  woes. 

Mad,  Guy  on. 


THE  SAFE  REFUGE. 

COURAGE,  my  sorely-tempted  heart ! 

Break  through  thy  woes,  forget  their  smart ; 
Come  forth  and  on  thy  Bridegroom  gaze  ; 

The  Lamb  of  God,  the  Fount  of  grace  : 

Here  is  thy  place ! 

His  arms  are  open,  thither  flee  ! 

There  reft  and  peace  are  waiting  thee, 

The  deathlefs  crown  of  righteousnefs. 

The  entrance  to  eternal  blifs : 

He  gives  thee  this  ! 

Then  combat  well,  of  nought  afraid, 

For  thus  His  follower  thou  art  made. 


AjffiiSllon.  12 1 

Each  battle  teaches  thee  to  fight, 

Each  foe  to  be  a  braver  knight, 

Armed  with  His  might. 

If  ftorms  of  fierce  temptation  rise. 

Unmoved  we’ll  face  the  frowning  fkies  ; 

If  but  the  heart  is  true  indeed, 

Chrift  will  be  with  us  in  our  need, — 

His  own  could  bleed. 

The  word  hath  ftill  its  glorious  powers. 

The  nobleft  chivalry  is  ours  ; 

O  Thou,  for  whom  to  die  is  gain, 

I  bring  Thee  here  my  all,  oh  deign 

To  accept  and  reign! 

7.  H.  Bohmer.  1704. 

FOR  A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT. 

NOW  darknefs  over  all  is  spread, 

No  sounds  the  ftillnefs  break ; 

Ah  when  fhall  these  sad  hours  be  fled  : 

Am  I  alone  awake? 

Ah  no,  I  do  not  wake  alone. 

Alone  I  do  not  fleep. 

Around  me  ever  watcheth  One 

Who  wakes  with  those  who  weep. 


122  JjffiiSlion, 

On  earth  it  is  so  dark  and  drear, 

With  Him  so  calm  and  bright ; 

The  ftars,  in  solemn  radiance  clear, 

Shine  there  through  all  our  night. 

’T  is  when  the  lights  of  earth  are  gone 
The  heavenly  glories  fhine  ; 

When  other  comfort  I  have  none. 

Thy  comfort.  Lord,  is  mine. 

Be  ftill,  my  throbbing  heart,  be  flill  ; 

Caft  off  thy  weary  load. 

And  make  His  holy  will  thy  will. 

And  reft  upon  thy  God. 

How  many  a  time  the  night  hath  come. 

Yet  ftill  return’d  the  day; 

How  many  a  time  thy  crofs,  thy  gloom. 

Ere  now  hath  pafT’d  away. 

And  these  dark  hours  of  anxious  pain 
That  now  opprefs  me  sore, 

I  know  will  vanifh  soon  again. 

Then  I  fliall  fear  no  more : 

For  when  the  night  hath  lafted  long. 

We  know  the  morn  is  near  ; 

And  when  the  trial ’s  fharp  and  ftrong. 

Our  Help  fliall  soon  appear. 

Pajior  Joseph  sen. 


123 


LIGHT  ARISING  OUT  OF  DARKNESS. 


CHILDREN  of  God,  who  pacing  flow, 
Your  pilgrim  path  pursue. 

In  flrength  and  weaknefs,  joy  and  woe. 

To  God’s  high  calling  true  — 

Why  move  you  thus,  with  lingering  tread, 
A  doubtful,  mournful  band  ? 

Why  faintly  hangs  the  drooping  head  ? 

Why  fails  the  feeble  hand  ? 

Oh,  weak  to  know  a  Saviour’s  power. 

To  feel  a  Father’s  care  ; 

A  moment’s  toil,  a  palling  Ihower, 

Is  all  the  grief  ye  fliare. 

The  Lord  of  Light,  though,  veiled  awhile. 
He  hides  his  noontide  ray. 

Shall  soon  in  lovelier  beauty  smile, 

To  gild  the  clofing  day; 

And,  burfting  through  the  dulky  fliroud. 
That  dared  his  power  inveft. 

Rise  throned  in  light  o’er  every  cloud. 

And  guide  you  to  his  reft. 

Bowdler, 


124  AffiSiion. 


AFFLICTION. 

PEACE,  peace  :  it  is  not  so.  Thou  doft  miscall 
Thy  phyfick ;  pills  that  change 
Thy  Tick  acceflions  into  settled  health ; 

This  is  the  great  elixir  that  turns  gall 
To  wine  and  sweetnefs,  poverty  to  wealth, 

And  brings  man  home  when  he  doth  range. 

Did  not  He  who  ordain’d  the  day. 

Ordain  night  too  ? 

And  in  the  greater  world  display 
What  in  the  lefTer  he  would  do  ? 

All  flefli  is  clay,  thou  know’ft  ;  and  but  that  God 
Doth  use  his  rod, 

And  by  a  fruitfull  change  of  froft  and  fhowres, 
Cherifh  and  bind  thy  pow’rs. 

Thou  would’ft  to  weeds  and  thirties  quite  disperse. 
And  be  more  wild  than  is  thy  verse. 

Sicknefs  is  wholesome,  crofles  are  but  curbs 
To  check  the  mule,  unruly  man  ; 

They  are  heaven’s  hufbandry,  the  famous  fan. 
Purging  the  floor  which  chaff*  dirturbs. 

Were  all  the  year  one  conrtant  sunfhine,  wee 
Should  have  no  flowres; 

All  would  be  drought  and  leannefs  ;  not  a  tree 
Would  make  us  bowres. 


AfiiSimi,  125 

Beauty  confifts  in  colours;  and  that’s  beft 
Which  is  not  fixt,  but  flies  and  flowes. 

The  settled  red  is  dull,  and  whites  that  reft 
Something  of  ficknefs  would  disclose. 

Viciflitude  plaies  all  the  game; 

Nothing  that  ftirrs, 

Or  hath  a  name, 

But  waits  upon  this  wheel ; 

Kingdomes  too  have  their  phyfick,  and  for  fteel 
Exchange  their  peace  and  furrs. 

Thus  doth  God  key  disorder’d  man, 

Which  none  else  can. 

Tuning  his  breft  to  rise  or  fall; 

And  by  a  sacred,  needfull  art 
Like  firings,  ftretch  ev’ry  part. 

Making  the  whole  most  musicall. 

Henry  Vaughan,  1621—1695. 

/ 

DIVERS  .PROVIDENCES. 

WHEN  all  the  year  our  fields  are  frefh  and  green. 
And  while  sweet  fhowers  and  sunftiine,  every  day. 
As  oft  as  need  requireth,  come  between 

The  heavens  and  earth,  they  heedlefs  pafs  away. 

The  fullnefs  and  continuance  of  a  blefling 
Doth  make  us  to  be  senselefs  of  the  good  ; 


126  A^lSlion, 

And  if  sometimes  it  fly  not  our  pofTefling, 

The  sweetnefs  of  it  is  not  underftood  ; 

Had  we  no  winter,  summer  would  be  thought 
Not  half  so  pleafing ;  and  if  tempefts  were  not, 
Such  comforts  by  a  calm  could  not  be  brought ; 

For  things,  save  by  their  oppofites,  appear  not. 

Both  health  and  wealth  are  tafteless  unto  some. 

And  so  is  ease  and  every  other  pleasure. 

Till  poor,  or  Tick,  or  grieved,  they  become. 

And  then  they  relifli  these  in  ampler  measure. 

God,  therefore,  full  of  kind,  as  He  is  wise. 

So  tempereth  all  the  favours  He  will  do  us. 

That  we  his  bounties  may  the  better  prize. 

And  make  his  chaftisements  lefs  bitter  to  us. 

One  while  a  scorching  indignation  burns 

The  flowers  and  bloflToms  of  our  hopes  away. 
Which  into  scarcity  our  plenty  turns. 

And  changeth  new-mown  grafs  to  parched  hay  ; 
Anon  his  fruitful  fhowers  and  pleafing  dews. 

Commixed  with  cheerful  rays.  He  sendeth  down, 
And  then  the  barren  earth  her  crops  renews. 

Which,  with  rich  harvefts,  hills  and  valleys  crown  j 
For,  as  to  relifh  joys.  He  sorrow  sends  ; 

So  comfort  on  temptation  ftill  attends. 

George  Wither, 


JjffiiSiion.  127 


INCOMPLETENESS. 

Nothing  refllng  in  its  own  completenefs, 
Can  have  worth  or  beauty :  but  alone 
Because  it  leads  and  tends  to  farther  sweetnefs, 
Fuller,  higher,  deeper  than  its  own. 

Spring’s  real  glory  dwells  not  in  the  meaning. 
Gracious  though  it  be,  of  her  blue  hours  : 

But  is  hidden  in  her  tender  leaning 

Towards  the  summer’s  richer  wealth  of  flowers. 

Dawn  is  fair,  because  her  rnifts  fade  flowly 
Into  day,  which  floods  the  world  with  light ; 
Twilight’s  myftery  is  so  sweet  and  holy. 

Juft  because  it  ends  in  ftarry  night. 

Life  is  only  bright  when  it  proceedeth 
Towards  a  truer,  deeper  Life  above; 

Human  love  is  sweeteft  when  it  leadeth 
To  a  more  divine  and  perfect  love. 

Childhood’s  smiles  unconscious  graces  borrow 
From  ftrife  that  in  a  far-off*  future  lies  ; 

And  angel  glances  veiled  now  by  life’s  sorrow. 
Draw  our  hearts  to  some  beloved  eyes. 


128  JffiSfion, 

Learn  the  myftery  of  progreffion  duly ; 

Do  not  call  each  glorious  change  decay ; 

But  know  we  only  hold  our  treasures  truly, 

When  it  seems  as  if  they  pafled  away. 

Nor  dare  to  blame  God’s  gifts  for  incompletenefs  ; 

In  that  want  their  beauty  lies  ;  they  roll 
Towards  some  infinite  depth  of  love  and  sweetnefs, 
Bearing  onward  man’s  reludfant  soul. 

Mifs  A.  A»  ProSfor, 

LINES 

WRITTEN  AFTER  HEARING  SOME  BEAUTIFUL  SINGING  IN  A  CONVENT- 

CHURCH  AT  ROME. 

SWEET  voices  !  seldom  mortal  ear 
Strains  of  such  potency  might  hear ; 

My  soul  that  liftened,  seemed  quite  gone, 
Dissolved  in  sweetnefs,  and  anon 
I  was  borne  upward,  till  I  trod 
Among  the  hierarchy  of  God. 

And  when  they  ceased,  as  time  mufl:  bring 
An  end  to  every  sweetefl:  thing. 

With  what  reludlancy  came  back 
My  spirits  to  their  wonted  track. 

And  how  I  loathed  the  common  life  — 

The  daily  and  recurring  ftrife 


Aj^i^ion, 


129 


With  petty  fins,  the  lowly  road, 

And  being’s  ordinary  load  ! 

—  Why,  after  such  a  solemn  mood. 
Should  any  meaner  thought  intrude  ? 

Why  will  not  heaven  hereafter  give. 

That  we  for  evermore  may  live 
Thus  at  our  spirit’s  topmoft  bent  ? 

So  alked  I  in  my  discontent. 

But  give  me.  Lord,  a  wiser  heart; 

These  seasons  come,  and  they  depart  — 
These  seasons,  and  those  higher  ftill. 
When  we  are  given  to  have  our  fill 
Of  ftrength,  and  life,  and  joy  with  thee. 
And  brightnefs  of  thy  face  to  see  ! 

They  come,  or  we  could  never  guefs 
Of  heaven’s  sublimer  bleffednefs  ; 

They  come,  to  be  our  ftrength  and  cheer 
In  other  times,  in  doubt  or  fear. 

Or  fliould  our  solitary  way 

Lie  through  the  desert  many  a  day. 

They  go  —  they  leave  us  blank  and  dead. 
That  we  may  learn,  when  they  are  fled. 
We  are  but  vapors  which  have  won 
A  moment’s  brightnefs  from  the  sun. 

And  which  it  may  at  pleasure  fill 
With  splendor,  or  unclothe  at  will. 

Well  for  us  they  do  not  abide. 

Or  we  ftiould  lose  ourselves  in  pride. 

And  be  as  angels  —  but  as  they 


9 


130  - 


Who  on  the  battlements  of  day 
Walked,  gazing  on  their  power  and  might, 
Till  they  grew  giddy  in  their  height. 

Then  welcome  every  nobler  time. 

When  out  of  reach  of  earth’s  dull  chime 
’T  is  ours  to  drink  with  purged  ears 
The  mufic  of  the  solemn  spheres. 

Or  in  the  desert  to  have  fight 
Of  those  enchanted  cities  bright, 

Which  sensual  eye  can  never  see  : 

Thrice  welcome  may  such  seasons  be  ; 

But  welcome  too  the  common  way. 

The  lowly  duties  of  the  day. 

And  all  which  makes  and  keeps  us  low. 
Which  teaches  us  ourselves  to  know. 

That  we  who  do  our  lineage  high 
Draw  from  beyond  the  ftarry  fky. 

Are  yet  upon  the  other  fide  — 

To  earth  and  to  its  duft  allied. 


Trench, 


N 


J* 


13 1 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  CHILD. 

WHEN  I  can  truft  my  all  with  God, 
In  triars  fearful  hour, 

Bow  all  refigned  beneath  his  rod. 

And  blefs  his  sparing  power  j 
A  joy  springs  up  amid  diftrefs, 

A  fountain  in  the  wildernefs. 

Oh  !  to  be  brought  to  Jesus’  feet, 

Though  sorrows  fix  me  there. 

Is  ftill  a  privilege  j  and  sweet 
The  energies  of  prayer. 

Though  fighs  and  tears  its  language  be, 

If  Chrifi:  be  nigh,  and  smile  on  me. 

An  earthly  mind,  a  faithlefs  heart. 

He  sees  with  pitying  eye  ; 

He  will  not  let  his  grace  depart 
But,  kind  severity  ! 

He  takes  a  hoftage  of  our  love 
To  draw  the  parent’s  heart  above. 

There  Hands  our  child  before  the  Lord, 

In  royal  vefture  dreft  ; 

A  viftor  ere  he  drew  the  sword. 

Ere  he  had  toiled  at  reft. 


No  doubts  this  blefTed  faith  bedim  : 

We  know  that  Jesus  died  for  him. 

Oh  blefled  be  the  hand  that  gave  ; 

Still  blefled  when  it  takes. 

BlelTed  be  He  who  smites  to  save, 

Who  heals  the  heart  he  breaks. 

Perfedt  and  true  are  all  his  ways, 

Whom  Heaven  adores,  and  Death  obeys. 

Conder, 


\ 


Patience. 


133 


PATIENCE. 


Dear  Jesus,  give  me  patience  here. 

And  faith  to  see  my  crown  as  near, 
And  almoft  reachM  ;  because  ’t  is  sure 
If  I  hold  fall,  and  flight  the  lure. 

Give  me  humility  and  peace. 

Contented  thoughts,  innoxious  ease, 

A  sweet,  revengelefs,  quiet  minde. 

And  to  my  greatefl:  haters  kinde. 

Give  me,  my  God  !  a  heart  as  milde 
And  plain,  as  when  I  was  a  childe. 

That  when  my  throne  is  set,  and  all 
These  conquerors  before  it  fall, 

I  may  be  found  preserv’d  by  thee 
Amongfl:  the  chosen  company. 

Who  by  no  blood  here  overcame 
But  the  blood  of  the  blelTed  Lamb. 

Henry  Vaughan. 


134 


Patience, 


WAITING  FOR  CHRIST. 


UNCHANGEABLE,  Almighty  Lord, 
The  true,  and  merciful,  and  juft. 

Be  mindful  of  thy  gracious  word. 

Wherein  thou  causeft  me  to  truft. 

My  weary  eyes  look  out  in  vain. 

And  long  thy  saving  health  to  see ; 

But  known  to  thee  is  all  my  pain. 

When  wilt  thou  come  and  comfort  me  ? 

Prisoner  of  hope,  to  thee  I  turn  ; 

Thee  my  ftrong  hold,  and  only  ftay; 
Harden’d  in  grief,  I  ever  mourn : 

Why  do  thy  chariot-wheels  delay  ? 

But  fliall  thy  creature  alk  thee  why? 

No  ;  I  retradf  the  eager  prayer  ; 

Lord,  as  thou  wilt,  and  not  as  I ; 

I  cannot  choose :  thou  canft  not  err. 

To  thee,  the  only  wise  and  true. 

See  then  at  laft  I  all  refign  ; 

Make  me  in  Chrift  a  creature  new. 

The  manner  and  the  time  be  thine. 


Patience. 


135 


Only  preserve  my  soul  from  sin, 

Nor  let  me  faint  for  want  of  thee; 

I  ’ll  wait  ’till  thou  appear  within^ 

And  plant  thy  heaven  of  love  in  me. 

TV ^-Jley. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  PATIENCE. 


“  Ye  have  need  of  patience.”  —  Heb.  10  :  36. 

GENTLE  Angel  walketh  throughout  a  world  of 
woe, 

With  meflages  of  mercy  to  mourning  hearts  below  ; 

His  peaceful  smile  invites  them  to  love  and  to  confide. 
Oh  !  follow  in  His  footfteps,  keep  closely  by  His  fide  ! 


A 


So  gently  will  He  lead  thee  through  all  the  cloudy  day. 

And  whisper  of  glad-tidings  to  cheer  the  pilgrim-way; 

His  courage  never  failing,  when  thine  is  almofi:  gone. 

He  takes  thy  heavy  burden,  and  helps  to  bear  it  on. 

To  soft  and  tearful  sadnefs  He  changes  dumb  despair. 

And  soothes  to  deep  submifiion  the  ftorm  of  grief  and 
care  ; 

Where  midnight  fihades  are  brooding.  He  pours  the 
light  of  noon. 

And  every  grievous  wound  He  heals,  moft  surely,  if 
not  soon. 


136  Patience, 

He  will  not  blame  thy  sorrows,  while  He  brings  the 
healing  balm  ; 

He  does  not  chide  thy  longings,  while  He  soothes  them 
into  calm  ; 

And  when  thy  heart  is  murmuring,  and  wildly  afking 
why  ? 

He  smiling  beckons  forward,  points  upward  to  the  fky. 

He  will  not  always  answer  ,  thy  queftions  and  thy  fear, 

His  watchword  is,  “  Be  patient,  thy  journey’s  end  is 
near  !  ” 

And  ever  through  the  toilsome  way.  He  tells  of  joys 
to  come. 

And  points  the  pilgrim  to  his  reft,  the  wanderer  to  his 
home. 

S pitta. 


GOD’S  ANVIL. 

PAIN’S  furnace-heat  within  me  quivers, 
God’s  breath  upon  the  flame  doth  blow. 
And  all  my  heart  in  anguifh  fhivers. 

And  trembles  at  the  fiery  glow-  ; 

And  yet  I  whisper  —  as  God  will ! 

And  in  his  hotteft  fire,  hold  ftill. 

He  comes  and  lays  my  heart,  all  heated. 

On  the  hard  anvil,  minded  so 


Patience,  137 

- ^ - —  ...  , 

Into  his  own  fair  fliape  to  beat  it 

With  his  great  hammer,  blow  on  blow  \ 

And  yet  I  whisper  —  as  God  will  ! 

And  at  his  heavieft  blows,  hold  ftill. 

He  takes  my  softened  heart  and  beats  it ; 

The  sparks  fly  olF  at  every  blow  ; 

He  turns  it  o’er  and  o’er,  and  heats  it. 

And  lets  it  cool,  and  makes  it  glow  ; 

And  yet  I  whisper  —  as  God  will  ! 

And,  in  his  mighty  hand,  hold  flill. 

Why  fhould  I  murmur?  for  the  sorrow 
Thus  only  longer  lived  would  be  ; 

Its  end  may  come,  and  will,  to-morrow. 

When  God  has  done  his  work  in  me  ; 

So  I  say,  trufting  —  as  God  will! 

And,  trufting  to  the  end,  hold  flill.  ^ 

He  kindles  for  my  profit  purely 
Affliifions  glowing,  fiery  brand. 

And  all  his  heavieft  blows  are  surely 
Inflicted  by  a  Mafter  hand  ; 

So  I  say,  praying — as  God  will! 

And  hope  in  him,  and  suffer  ftill. 

Julius  Sturm, 


Patience, 


138- 


hope. 

Angels  fhall  free  the  feet  from  ftain,  to  their 
own  hue  of  snow, 

If,  undismayed,  we  reach  the  hills  where  the  true 
olives  grow  ; 

The  olive-groves  which  we  muft  seek  in  cold  and 
damp. 

Alone  can  yield  us  oil  for  a  perpetual  lamp  ; 

Then  sound  again  the  golden  horn,  with  promise  ever 
new, 

The  princely  doe  will  ne’er  be  caught  by  those  that 
flack  pursue. 

Yet  the  “White  Doe”  of  angel  hopes  be  always  kept 
in  view. 

Yes  !  sound  again  the  horn  of  Hope,  the  golden  horn  ! 
Answer  it,  flutes  and  pipes,  from  valleys  {fill  and  lone; 
Warders  from  your  high  towers,  with  trumps  of  silver 
scorn. 

And  harps  in  maiden’s  bowers,  with  Airings  from  deep 
hearts  torn. 

All  answer  to  the  horn  of  Hope,  the  golden  horn  ! 


Patience. 

139 

WAIT. 

TTTAIT!  for  the  day  is  breaking, 

V  V  Though  the  dull  night  be  long  : 
Wait !  God  is  not  forsaking 

Thy  heart.  Be  ftrong  —  be  ftrong! 

Wait !  and  the  clouds  of  sorrow 

Shall  melt  in  gentle  fhowers, 

And  hues  from  .heaven  fhall  borrow, 

As  they  fall  amidft  the  flowers. 

Wait  !  ’t  is  the  key  to  pleasure 

And  to  the  plan  of  God  ;  , 

O,  tarry  thou  His  leisure. 

Thy  soul  fhall  bear  no  load. 

Wait  !  for  the  time  is  hafting 

When  life  fhall  be  made  clear. 

And  all  who  know  heart-wafting 

Shall  feel  that  God  is  dear. 

Chauncy  Hare  Townsend. 

140 


Patience. 


cc 


WAITING. 

JESUS’  hour  is  not  yet  come  ;  ” 
Let  this  word  thine  answer  be, 
Pilgrim  afking  for  thy  home, 
Longing  to  be  bleft  and  free. 
Yet  a  season  tarry  on  — 

Nobly  borne  is  nobly  done. 

While  oppreffing  cares  and  fears. 
Night  and  day  no  respite  leave, 
Still  prolonged  through  many  years. 
None  to  help  thee  or  relieve, 
Hold  the  word  of  promise  faft. 

Till  deliverance  comes  at  laft. 

Every  creature-hope  and  truft. 
Every  earthly  prop  or  ftay. 

May  lie  proftrate  in  the  dull:. 

May  have  failed  or  pafled  away  ; 
Then  when  darkest  falls  the  night, 
Jesus  comes,  and  all  is  light. 

Yes,  the  Comforter  draws  nigh 
To  the  breaking,  burfting  heart. 
For,  with  tender  sympathy. 

He  has  seen  and  felt  its  smart: 


Patience. 

141 

Through  its  darkeft  hours  of  ill, 

He  is  waiting,  watching  ftill. 

Doft  thou  afk,  When  comes  His  hour  ? 

Then,  when  it  fhall  aid  thee  heft. 
Truft  His  faithfulnefs  and  power, 

Truft  in  Him  and  quietly  reft. 

Suffer  on,  and  hope  and  wait  — 

Jesus  never  comes  too  late. 

Blefled  day,  which  haftens  faft, 

End  of  conflidf  and  of  fin  ! 

Death  itself  fhall  die  at  laft. 

Heaven’s  eternal  joys  begin. 

Then  eternity  fhall  prove, 

God  is  Light,  and  God  is  Love. 

S pitta. 

A  LITTLE  WHILE. 

A  LITTLE  while,  and  every  fear, 
JLX.  That  o’er  the  perfedl  day 

Flings  fhadows  dark  and  drear. 
Shall  pafs  like  mift  away  ; 

The  secret  tear,  the  anxious  figh. 

Shall  pafs  into  a  smile  ; 

Time  changes  to  eternity,  — 

We  only  wait  a  little  while. 

142  Patience. 

A  little  while,  and  every  charm 
That  fteals  away  the  heart, 

And  earthly  joys  that  warm. 

And  lure  us  from  our  part. 

Shall  cease  our  heavenly  views  to  dim  j 
The  world  fhall  not  beguile 
Our  ever  faithful  thoughts  from  Him, 

Who  bade  us  wait  a  little  while. 

A  little  while,  and  all  around,  — 

The  earth,  and  sea,  and  Iky,  — 

The  sunny  light  and  sound  ’ 

Of  Nature’s  minftrelsy. 

Shall  be  as  they  had  never  been  ; 

And  we,  so  weak  and  vile. 

Be  creatures  of  a  brighter  scene,  — 

We  only  wait  a  little  while. 

Grevllle. 

TO-DAY  AND  TO-MORROW. 

High  hopes  that  burned  like  ftars  sublime. 

Go  down  the  heavens  of  Freedom; 

And  true  hearts  perifli  in  the  time 
We  bitterlieft  need  them  ! 

But  never  fit  we  down,  and  say 
There ’s  nothing  left  but  sorrow  ; 

We  walk  the  wildernefs  to-day. 

The  promised  land  to-morrow. 


Patience. 


143 


Our  birds  of  song  are  fiient  now, 

There  are  no  flowers  blooming  ; 

Yet  life  beats  in  the  frozen  bough, 

And  Freedom’s  spring  is  coming  ! 

And  Freedom’s  tide  comes  up  alway 
Though  we  may  ftand  in  sorrow  ; 

And  our  good  barque  aground  to-day, 

Shall  float  again  to-morrow. 

Through  all  the  long,  dark  nights  of  years. 
The  people^s  cry  ascendeth. 

And  earth  is  wet  with  blood  and  tears  ; 

But  our  meek  sufferance  endeth  ! 

The  few  fhall  not  forever  sway. 

The  many  toil  in  sorrow  ; 

The  powers  of  earth  are  ffrong  to-day. 

But  heaven  fhall  rule  to-morrow. 

Though  hearts  brood  o’er  the  paft,  our  eyes 
With  smiling  features  gliften  ! 

For  lo  !  our  day  burfts  up  the  fkies  : 

Lean  out  your  souls  and  liften  ! 

The  world  rolls  Freedom’s  radiant  way 
And  ripens  with  her  sorrow  ; 

Keep  heart  !  who  bear  the  crofs  to-day. 

Shall  wear  the  crown  to-morrow. 

O  Youth  !  flame  earneft,  ftill  aspire. 

With  energies  immortal  ; 

To  many  a  heaven  of  defire. 

Our  yearning  opes  a  portal  : 


144  Patience. 

And  though  age  wearies  by  the  way, 

And  hearts  break  in  the  furrow, 

We  ’ll  sow  the  golden  grain  to-day. 

And  harveft  comes  to-morrow. 

Build  up  heroic  lives,  and  all 
Be  like  a  fheathen  sabre. 

Ready  to  flafli  out  at  God’s  call, 

O  chivalry  of  labor  ! 

Triumph  and  toil  are  twins  ;  and  aye, 

Joy  suns  the  cloud  of  sorrow  ; 

And  ’t  is  the  martyrdom  to-day. 

Brings  vidlory  to-morrow. 

Gerald  Majfey. 


MY  PSALM. 

I  MOURN  no  more  my  vaniftied  years  : 

Beneath  a  tender  rain. 

An  April  rain  of  smiles  and  tears, 

My  heart  is  young  again. 

The  weft  winds  blow,  and,  finging  low, 

I  hear  the  glad  ftreams  run  ; 

The  windows  of  my  soul  I  throw 
Wide  open  to  the  sun. 

V 

No  longer  forward  nor  behind 
I  look  in  hope  and  fear  ; 


Patience. 


H5 


But,  grateful,  take  the  good  I  find. 

The  befi:  of  now  and  here. 

I  plough  no  more  a  desert  land. 

To  harveft  weed  and  tare; 

The  manna  dropping  from  God’s  hand. 
Rebukes  my  painful  care. 

I  break  my  pilgrim  ftafF,  I  lay 
Afide  the  toiling  oar  ; 

The  angel  sought  so  far  away  ' 

I  welcome  at  my  door. 

The  airs  of  Spring  may  never  play 
Among  the  ripening  corn. 

Nor  frefhnefs  of  the  flowers  of  May, 

Blow  through  the  Autumn  morn ; 

Yet  fhall  the  blue-eyed  gentian  look 
Through  fringed  lids  to  heaven. 

And  the  pale  after  in  the  brook. 

Shall  see  its  image  given  ; 

The  woods  fhall  wear  their  robes  of  praise. 
The  south  wind  softly  figh. 

And  sweet,  calm  days  in  golden  haze 
Melt  down  the  amber  Iky. 

Not  lefs  fhall  manly  deed  and  word 
Rebuke  an  age  of  wrong  ; 


146  Patience, 

The  graven  flowers  that  wreath  the  sword 
Make  not  the  blade  lefs  ftrong. 

But  smiting  hands  fhall  learn  to  heal, 

To  build  as  to  deftroy ; 

Nor  lefs  my  heart  for  others  feel 
That  I  the  more  enjoy. 

All  as  God  wills,  who  wisely  heeds 
To  give  or  to  withhold, 

And  knoweth  more  of  all  my  needs 
Than  all  my  prayers  have  told  ! 

Enough  that  bleflings  undeserved 
Have  marked  my  erring  track  — 

That  whereso’er  my  feet  have  swerved. 
His  chaftening  turned  me  back  — 

That  more  and  more  a  Providence 
Of  love  is  underflood, 

Making  the  springs  of  time  and  sense 
Sweet  with  eternal  good  — 

That  death  seems  but  a  covered  way 
Which  opens  into  light. 

Wherein  no  blinded  child  can  ftray 
Beyond  the  Father’s  fight  — 

That  care  and  trial  seem  at  laft. 

Through  Memory’s  sunset  air. 


i 


Patience. 


147 


t 


Like  mountain  ranges  overpaft, 

In  purple  diftance  fair  — 

That  all  the  jarring  notes  of  life 
Seem  blending  in  a  psalm, 

And  all  the  angles  of  its  ftrife 
Slow  rounding  into  calm. 

And  so  the  ftiadows  fall  apart, 

And  so  the  weft  winds  play  ; 

And  all  the  windows  of  my  heart 
I  open  to  the  day. 

J.  G.  Whittier. 


ENDURANCE. 


A  STRONG  and  mailed  angel, 
With  eyes  serene  and  deep 
Unwearied  and  unwearying. 

His  patient  watch  doth  keep. 


A  ftrong  and  mailed  angel 

In  the  midnight  and  the  day  ; 
Walking  with  me  at  my  labor. 
Kneeling  by  me  when  I  pray. 

What  he  says  no  other  heareth  ; 
None  liften  save  the  ftars. 


148 


Patience. 


That  move  in  armed  battalions, 

Clad  with  the  ftrength  of  Mars. 

Low  are  the  words  he  speaketh  — 

“  Young  dreamer,  God  is  great  ! 
’T  is  glorious  to  suffer  ! 

’T  is  majefty  to  wait !  ” 

O,  Angel  of  Endurance  ! 

O,  saintly  and  sublime  ! 

White  are  the  armed  legions 
That  tread  the  halls  of  Time ! 

Bleffed,  and  brave,  and  holy! 

The  olive  on  my  heart. 

Baptized  with  thy  baptizing. 

Shall  never  more  depart. 

O,  ftrong  and  mailed  angel ! 

Thy  trailing  robes  I  see  I 
Read  other  souls  the  leffon 
So  meekly  read  to  me  ! 

Still  chant  the  same  grand  anthem  — 
The  beautiful  and  great  — 

‘‘  ’T  is  glorious  to  suffer, 

’T  is  majefty  to  wait !  ’’ 


Patience,  149 


TIMES  GO  BY  TURNS. 

The  lopped  tree  in  time  may  grow  again  ; 

Mofl  naked  plants  renew  both  fruit  and  flowers  ; 
The  sorrieft  wight  may  find  release  from  pain  ; 

The  driefl:  soil  suck  in  some  moiftening  fhowers  ; 
Times  go  by  turns,  and  chances  change  by  course 
From  foul  to  fair  —  from  better  hap  to  worse. 

The  sea  of  fortune  doth  not  ever  flow, 

She  draws  her  favors  to  the  lowefl:  ebb. 

Her  tides  have  equal  times  to  come  and  go. 

Her  loom  doth  weave  the  fine  and  coarsefl:  web  ; 

No  joy  so  great,  but  runneth  to  an  end  ; 

No  hap  so  hard  but  may  in  fine  amend. 

Not  always  fall  of  leaf,  nor  ever  spring  ; 

No  endlefs  night,  nor  yet  eternal  day ; 

The  saddefl:  bird  a  season  finds  to  fing. 

The  rougheft  ftorm  a  calm  may  soon  allay  : 

Thus,  with  succeeding  turns,  God  tempereth  all. 

That  man  may  hope  to  rise,  yet  Tear  to  fall. 

A  chance  may  win  what  by  mischance  was  lofl: ; 
That  net  that  holds  no  great,  takes  little  fifti ; 


150  Patience, 

In  some  things  all,  in  all  things  none  are  crolT’d  j 
Few  all  they  need,  but  none  have  all  they  wifli  j 
Unmingled  joys  here  to  no  man  befall  ; 

Who  leaft,  hath  some ;  who  moft,  hath  never  all. 

Robert  Southwell.  1562—1594. 

PRESUMPTION  AND  DESPAIR. 

ONE  time  I  was  allowed  to  fleer. 
Through  realms  of  azure  light ; 
Henceforth,  I  said,  I  need  not  fear 
A  lower,  meaner  flight  ; 

But  here  fhall  evermore  abide, 

In  light  and  splendor  glorified. 

My  heart  one  time  the  rivers  fed, 

Large  dews  upon  it  lay  ; 

A  ffefhnefs  it  has  won,  I  said, 

Which  fhall  not  pafs  away; 

But  what  it  is,  it  fhall  remain. 

Its  frefhnefs  to  the  end  retain. 

But  when  I  lay  upon  the  fhore. 

Like  some  poor,  wounded  thing, 

I  deemed  I  fhould  not  evermore 
Refit  my  fhattered  wing ; 


Patience.  1 5 1 

Nailed  to  the  ground,  and  faftened  there, 

This  was  the  thought  of  my  despair. 

And  when  my  very  heart  seemed  dried. 

And  parched  as  summer  duft. 

Such  ftill  I  deemed  it  muft  abide. 

No  hope  had  I,  no  truft 
That  any  power  again  could  blefs 
With  fountains  that  waste  wildernefs. 

« 

But  if  both  hope  and  fear  were  vain. 

And  came  alike  to  naught. 

Two  leflbns  we  from  this  may  gain. 

If  ought  can  teach  us  aught  j  — 

One  leflbn  rather,  to  divide 

Between  our  fearfulnefs  and  pride. 

Trench. 

Let  them  that  would  build  caftles  in  the  air. 

Vault  thither,  without  ftep  or  ftair, 

Inftead  of  feet  to  climb,  take  wings  to  fly. 

And  think  their  turrets  top  the  Iky. 

But  let  me  lay  all  my  foundations  deep. 

And  learn  before  I  run,  to  creep. 

Who  digs  through  rocks  to  lay  his  ground-works  low. 
May  in  good  time  build  high,  and  sure,  though  flow. 

Chriflopher  Harvey. 


I 


152  Prayer. 


PRAYER. 

'4p 

PRAYER. 

PRAYER  —  the  church’s  banquet;  angel’s  age; 

God’s  breath  in  man  returning  to  his  birth  ; 

The  soul  in  paraphrase  ;  heart  in  pilgrimage  ; 

The  Chriftian  plummet,  sounding  heaven  and  earth  ; 

Engine  againft  th’  Almighty  ;  finner’s  tower  ; 

Reversed  thunder  ;  ChrifPs-fide-piercing  spear  ; 

The  fix-days  world,  transpofmg  in  an  hour ; 

A  kind  of  tune,  which  all  things  hear  and  fear ; 

Softnefs,  and  peace,  and  joy,  and  love,  and  blifs  ; 
Exalted  manna  ;  gladnefs  of  the  beft ; 

Heaven  in  ordinary  ;  man  well  dreft  ; 

The  milky-way  ;  the  bird  of  paradise  ; 

Church  bells  beyond  the  ftars  heard  ;  the  soul’s  blood  ; 
The  land  of  spices ;  something  underftood. 

George  Herbert. 


Prayer.  153 


OJOYES  !  infinite  sweetnefs!  with  what  flowres 
And  fhoots  of  glory  my  soul  breakes  and  buds  ! 
All  the  long  houres 
Of  night  and  reft, 

Through  the  ftill  fhrouds 
Of  fleep  and  clouds, 

This  dew  fell  on  my  breaft  ; 

O  how  it  blouds. 

And  spirits  all  my  earth  !  heark !  in  what  rings 
And  hymming  circulations  the  quick  world 
Awakes  and  fings  ! 

The  rifing  winds 
And  falling  springs. 

Birds,  beafts,  all  things 
Adore  Him  in  their  kinds. 

Thus  all  is  hurl’d 

In  sacred  hymnes  and  order,  the  great  chime 
And  symphony  of  nature.  Prayer  is 
The  world  in  tune, 

A  spirit-voyce. 

And  vocall  joyes. 

Whose  eccho  is  heaven’s  blifTe. 

O  let  me  climbe 

When  I  lye  down !  The  pious  soul  by  night 
Is  like  a  clouded  ftarre,  whose  beames,  though  said 
•  To  ftied  their  light 

Under  some  cloud. 


154 


Prayer. 


Yet  are  above. 

And  fhine  and  move 
Beyond  that  miftie  fhrowd. 

So  in  my  bed, 

That  curtain’d  grave,  though  deep,  like  afhes,  hide 
My  lamp  and  life,  both  (hall  in  Thee  abide. 

Henry  Vaughan. 

' — 

A  GARDEN  so  well  watered  before  morn 

Is  hotly  up,  that  not  the  swart  sun’s  blaze. 
Down-beating  with  unmitigated  rays. 

Nor  arid  winds  from  scorching  places  borne. 

Shall  quite  prevail  to  make  it  bare  and  ftiorn 
Of  its  green  beauty  —  fhall  not  quite  prevail 
That  all  its  morning  frefhnefs  (hall  exhale. 

Till  evening  and  the  evening  dews  return  — 

A  bleffing  such  as  this  our  hearts  might  reap. 

The  frefhnefs  of  the  garden  they  might  fhare. 
Through  the  long  day  a  heavenly  frefhnefs  keep. 

If,  knowing  how  the  day  and  the  day’s  glare 
Muft  beat  upon  them,  we  would  largely  fleep. 

And  water  them  betimes  with  dews  of  prayer. 

’Trench. 


Prayer,  155 


ENSAMPLES  OF  OUR  SAVIOUR. 

OUR  Saviour,  (pattern  of  true  holinefs,) 

Continual  pray’d,  us  by  ensample  teaching. 
When  he  was  baptized  in  the  wildernefs. 

In  working  miracles  and  in  his  preaching. 

Upon  the  mount,  in  garden  groves  of  death. 

At  his  laft  supper,  at  his  parting  breath. 

Nothing  more  grateful  in  the  higheft  eyes, 

Nothing  more  firm  in  danger  to  protect  us. 
Nothing  more  forcible  to  pierce  the  fkies. 

And  not  depart  till  mercy  do  respedl  us  : 

And,  as  the  soul  life  to  the  body  gives. 

So  prayer  revives  the  soul,  by  prayer  it  lives. 

Robert  Southwell, 


CALL  TO  PRAYER, 

COME  to  the  morning  prayer. 

Come,  let  us  kneel  and  pray  ;  — 
Prayer  is  the  Chriflian  pilgrim’s  ftaff. 

To  walk  with  God  all  day. 


156 


Prayer. 


At  noon,  beneath  the  Rock 
Of  Ages,  reft  and  pray  ; 

Sweet  is  that  fhelter  from  the  heat. 
When  the  sun  smites  by  day. 

At  evening,  fhut  thy  door. 

Round  the  home  altar  pray  ; 

And,  finding  there  the  house  of  God, 
At  Heaven’s  gate  close  the  day. 

When  midnight  veils  our  eyes. 

Oh,  it  is  sweet  to  say, 

I  deep,  but  my  heart  waketh.  Lord, 
With  thee  to  watch  and  pray  ! 


HERE  is  an  eye  that  never  deeps. 


JL  Beneath  the  wing  of  night; 
There  is  an  ear  that  never  shuts. 
When  dnk  the  beams  of  light. 

There  is  an.  arm  that  never  tires. 
When  -human  ftrength  gives  way  ; 
There  is  a  love  that  never  fails. 
When  earthly  loves  decay. 

That  eye  is  fixed  on  seraph  throngs  ; 
That  ear  is  filled  with  angels’  songs  ; 


Prayer.  i  3  7 

That  arm  upholds  the  world  on  high  ; 

That  love  is  thrown  beyond  the  fky. 

But  there ’s  a  power  which  man  can  wield 
When  mortal  aid  is  vain  ;  — 

That  eye,  that  arm,  that  love  to  reach. 

That  liftening  ear  to  gain. 

That  power  is  prayer,  which  soars  on  high. 

And  feeds  on  blifs  beyond  the  sky  ! 

- ■ 

ALONE  WITH  GOD. 

Alone  with  God!  day’s  craven  cares 
Have  crowded  onward  unawares  j 
The  soul  is  left  to  breathe  her  prayers. 

Alone  with  God  !  I  bare  my  breaft. 

Come  in,  come  in,  O  holy  gueft. 

Give  reft  —  thy  reft,  of  reft  the  beft. 

Alone  with  God !  how  ftill  a  calm 
Steals  o’er  me,  sweet  as  music’s  balm, 

When  seraphs  sing  a  seraph’s  psalm. 

Alone  with  God  !  no  human  eye 
Is  here  with  eager  look  to  pry 
Into  the  meaning  of  each  figh. 


158 


Prayer, 


Alone  with  God  !  no  jealous  glare 
Now  flings  me  with  its  torturing  stare  ; 

No  human  malice  says  —  beware  ! 

Alone  with  God  !  from  earth’s  rude  crowd, 
With  joflling  fleps  and  laughter  loud, 

My  better  soul  I  need  not  fhroud. 

Alone  with  God  !  He  only  knows 

If  sorrow’s  ocean  overflows 

The  filent  spring  from  whence  it  rose. 

Alone  with  God  !  He  mercy  lends. 

Life’s  fainting  hope,  life’s  meagre  ends. 
Life’s  dwarfing  pain  he  comprehends. 

Alone  with  God  !  He  feeleth  well 
The  soul’s  pent  life  that  will  o’erwell  ; 

The  life-long  want  no  words  may  tell ! 

Alone  with  God  !  flill  nearer  bend  ; 

O  tender  Father  condescend 
In  this  my  need  to  be  my  friend. 

Alone  with  God  !  with  suppliant  mien 
Upon  thy  pitying  breafl  I  lean. 

Nor  lefs  because  thou  art  unseen  ! 

Alone  with  God  !  safe  in  thine  arms, 

O  fhield  me  from  life’s  wild  alarms, 

O  save  me  from  life’s  fearful  harms. 


Prayer.  159 

Alone  with  God  !  my  Father,  blefs, 

With  thy  celeftial  promises, 

The  soul  that  needs  thy  tendernefs. 

Alone  with  God  !  O  sweet  to  me 
This  covert  to  whose  fhade  I  flee. 

To  breathe  repose  in  thee  —  in  thee! 

PRAYER  FOR  A  NEW  HEART. 

OFOR  a  heart  to  praise  my  God, 

A  heart  from  guilt  set  free  ; 

A  heart  that ’s  sprinkled  with  the  blood. 

So  freely  fhed  for  me! 

A  heart  refigned,  submiflive,  meek. 

My  blefTed  Saviour’s  throne,  — 

Where  only  Chrifl:  is  heard  to  speak. 

Where  Jesus  reigns  alone  : 

A  humble,  lowly,  contrite  heart. 

Believing,  true,  and  clean  ; 

Which  neither  life  nor  death  can  part 
From  Him  that  dwells  within  : 

A  heart  in  every  thought  renewed. 

And  full  of  love  divine : 


i6o  Prayer. 

Perfect  and  right,  and  pure  and  good;  — 

A  copy,  Lord,  of  thine! 

Thy  nature,  gracious  Lord,  impart. 

Come  quickly  from  above  ; 

Write  thy  new  name  upon  my  heart. 

Thy  new,  heft  name  of  Love ! 

JVeJley. 

THE  PRAYER  OF  THOMAS  ELLWOOD. 

OH  I  that  mine  eye  might  closed  be 
To  what  concerns  me  not  to  see  : 

That  deafnefs  might  pofTefs  my  ear 
To  what  concerns  me  not  to  hear  : 

That  Truth  my  tongue  might  ever  tie 
From  speaking  words  of  vanity; 

That  no  vain  thought  might  ever  reft 
Or  be  conceived  within  my  breaft  ; 

So  that  in  deed  and  word  and  thought. 

Glory  may  unto  God  be  wrought. 

But  what  are  wifties  ?  Lord  mine  eye 
Is  fixed  on  Thee,  to  Thee  I  cry  ! 

Cleanse  Lord,  and  purify  my  heart 
And  make  it  clean  in  every  part  ; 

And  when  ft  is  pure.  Lord  keep  it  so. 

For  that  is  more  than  I  can  do. 

i639-i7'3- 


Prayer. 


i6i 


SONG  OF  A  FAMILY. 

OMAKE  our  house  Thy  san6I:uary  ! 

Come  in  to  us,  a  friendly  gueft, 

And  in  our  circle  ever  tarry  ; 

Then  fhall  we  be  forever  bleft, 

And  Thou,^  a  house-mate,  fhall  these  walls 
Transfigure  into  royal  halls. 

Joy  dwells,  O  Lord,  where’er  thou  ftayeft  ; 

There  blooms  a  heavenly  blefTednefs ; 

In  fillc  thy  pooreft  thou  array  eft. 

Though  men  see  but  a  ragged  drefs. 

The  pureft  high  delight  is  there. 

And  even  in  want  is  wealth,  to  spare. 

Thou  every  morning  us  awakeft, 

And  graciously  to  prayer  doft  call  ; 

The  household  cares  Thou  undertakeft  j 
Thou  knoweft  what  is  beft  in  all. 

And  care,  though  ’t  were  a  leaden  load. 

Is  but  a  feather’s  weight  with  God. 

One  tender  bond  all  hearts  embraces, 

A  heavenly  bond.  Thy  hand  hath  wove  : 
The  rooms  are  turned  to  temple-spaces, 

1 1 


1 62  Prayer, 

Illumined  with  God’s  peace  and  love. 

Grace  is  the  sunfhine  of  our  home, 

And  there  God’s  angels  go  and  come. 

Tranjlated  from  the  German  hy  Rev.  C.  T,  Brooks, 

ACTS  2  :  2. 

SPIRIT  Divine  !  attend  our  prayer, 

And  make  this  house  thy  home ; 

Descend  with  all  thy  gracious  power. 

Oh !  come.  Great  Spirit,  come  ! 

Come  as  the  light ;  to  us  reveal 
Our  emptinefs  and  woe ; 

And  lead  us  in  those  paths  of  life 
Where  all  the  righteous  go. 

Come  as  the  fire,  and  purge  our  hearts 
Like  sacrificial  flame  ; 

Let  our  whole  souls  an  offering  be 
To  our  Redeemer’s  name. 

Come  as  the  dew,  and  sweetly  blefs 
This  consecrated  hour ; 

May  barren  minds  be  taught  to  own 
Thy  fertilizing  power. 


Prayer.  163 

Come  as  the  dove,  and  spread  thy  wings, 

The  wings  of  peaceful  love  ; 

And  let  the  Church  on  earth  become 
Bleft  as  the  Church  above. 


ABIDE  WITH  ME. 

“They  conftrained  him,  saying,  Abide  with  us;  for  it  is  toward  even¬ 
ing  and  the  day  is  far  spent.”  Luke  24;  29. 

Abide  with  me.  Faft  falls  the  eventide; 

The  darlcnefs  thickens  :  Lord  !  with  me  abide  ; 
When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts  flee. 

Help  of  the  helpless,  O  abide  with  me ! 

Swift  to  its  close  ebbs  out  life’s  little  day  ; 

Earth’s  joys  grow  dim,  its  glories  pafs  away; 

Change  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see  ; 

O  Thou  who  changefl:  not,  abide  with  me. 

Not  a  brief  glance  I  beg,  a  pafling  word. 

But  as  thou  dwell’st  with  thy  disciples.  Lord  — 
Familiar,  condescending,  patient,  free,  ^ 

Come  not  to  sojourn,  but  abide  with  me. 

Come  not  in  terrors,  as  the  King  of  kings. 

But  kind  and  good,  with  healing  in  thy  wings  ; 


1 64  Prayer. 

Tears  for  all  woes,  a  heart  for  every  plea; 

Come,  Friend  of  Tinners,  thus  abide  with  me! 

Thou  on  my  head  in  early  youth  didft  smile. 

And,  though  rebellious  and  perverse  meanwhile. 

Thou  haft  not  left  me,  oft  as  I  left  thee  ; 

On  to  the  close,  O  Lord!  abide  with  me. 

I  need  thy  presence  every  paffing  hour,  — 

What  but  thy  grace  can  foil  the  tempter’s  power  ? 
Who  like  Thyself  my  guide  and  ftay  can  be  ? 
Through  cloud  and  sunftiine,  O  abide  with  me  ! 

I  fear  no  foe,  with  Thee  at  hand  to  blefs  : 

Ills  have  no  weight,  and  tears  no  bitterness. 

Where  is  death^s  fting  ?  where,  grave,  thy  vidfory  ? 

I  triumph  ftill,  if  Thou  abide  with  me  ! 

Hold  thou  Thy  crofs  before  my  cloTing  eyes. 

Shine  through  the  gloom,  and  point  me  to  the  fkies  : 
Heaven’s  morning  breaks,  and  earth’s  vain  shadows 
flee ; 

In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord  !  abide  with  me. 

Lyte. 


Prayer.  165 


GRACE. 

s 

My  ftock  lies  dead  ;  and  no  increase 
Doth  my  dull  hufbandry  improve  : 

O  let  Thy  graces,  without  cease, 

Drop  from  above. 

If  ftill  the  sun  fhould  hide  his  face. 

Thy  house  would  but  a  dungeon  prove  ; 
Thy  works.  Night’s  captives.  O  let  grace 

Drop  from  above. 

The  dew  doth  every  morning  fall : 

And  fhall  the  dew  outftrip  thy  Dove  ? 
The  dew  for  which  grass  cannot  call 

Drop  from  above  ! 

Death  is  ftill  working  like  a  mole. 

And  digs  my  grave  at  each  remove. 

Let  grace  work  too  and  on  my  soul 

Drop  from  above. 

Sin  is  ftill  hammering  my  heart 
Unto  a  hardnefs  void  of  love. 

Let  suppling  grace,  to  crofs  his  art. 

Drop  from  above. 


i66 


Prayer, 


O  come ;  for  Thou  doft  know  the  way  ! 

Or,  if  to  me  thou  wilt  not  move, 

Remove  me,  where  I  need  not  say, 

“  Drop  from  above  !  ” 

George  Herbert. 


THE  LORD’S  PRAYER  ILLUSTRATED. 


Father  — 

By  right  of  creation, 
By  bountiful  provifion. 
By  gracious  adoption  ; 


Who  art  in  Heaven  — 

The  throne  of  thy  glory. 
The  portion  of  thy  children. 
The  temple  of  thy  angels  ; 


Hallowed  be  thy  name  — 

By  the  thoughts  of  our  hearts. 
By  the  words  of  our  lips, 

By  the  works  of  our  hands  j 


Thy  kingdom  come  — 

Of  Providence  to  defend  us. 
Of  grace  to  refine  us, 

Of  glory  to  crown  us  j 


Prayer.  167 

Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  Heaven  — 
Toward  us  without  refiftance, 

By  us  without  compulfion, 

Universally  without  exception, 

Eternally  without  declenfion  ; 

Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread  — 

Of  neceffity  for  our  bodies, 

Of  eternal  life  for  our  souls  ; 

And  forgive  us  our  trespafles  — 

Againft  the  commands  of  thy  law, 

Againft  the  grace  of  thy  gospel ; 

As  we  forgive  them  that  trespafs  againft  us  — 

By  defaming  our  charadters. 

By  embezzling  our  property. 

By  abufing  our  persons ; 

And  lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  us  from 
evil  — 

Of  overwhelming  aftlidfions. 

Of  worldly  enticements. 

Of  Satan’s  devices, 

Of  errors’  sedudfions. 

Of  finful  afFedfions; 

For  thine  is  the  kingdom,  the  power,  and  the  glory 
forever  — 

Thy  kingdom  governs  all. 


i68 


Prayer. 


Thy  power  subdues  all, 

Thy  glory  is  above  all. 

Amen. 

As  it  is  in  thy  purposes. 

So  it  is  in  thy  promises, 

So  be  it  in  our  prayers. 

So  it  fhall  be  to  thy  praise. 

Pierre  Bernard. 


THE  SHEPHERD’S  SABBATH  SONG. 


This  is  the  Sabbath  day  ! 

In  the  wide  field  I  am  alone. 

Hark  !  now  one  morning-bell’s  sweet  tone  : 
Now  it  has  died  away. 


Kneeling  I  worfhip  Thee; 

Sweet  dread  doth  o’er  my  spirit  fteal 
From  whispering  sounds  of  those  who  kneel 
Unseen  to  pray  with  me. 


Around  and  far  away 
So  clear  and  solemn  is  the  Iky, 

It  seems  all  opening  to  my  eye  ; 

This  is  the  Sabbath  day  ! 

From  the  German  of  Uhland^  by  Mrs,  Fallen, 


Prayer. 


169 


JAM  LUCIS  ORTO  SIDERE. 


I. 


NOW  that  the  sun  is  gleaming  bright 
Implore  we,  bending  low, 

That  Thou,  the  Uncreated  Light 
Wouldft  guide  us  as  we  go. 


II. 


Nor  finful  word,  nor  deed  of  wrong. 
Nor  thoughts  that  idly  rove. 

But  fimple  truth  be  on  our  tongue 
And  in  our  hearts  be  love. 


III. 


And  as  the  hours  in  order  flow  — 
O  Chrift  !  securely  fence 
Our  gates,  beleaguered  by  the  foe. 
The  gate  of  every  sense. 


IV. 


And  grant,  that  to  thine  honor.  Lord  ! 
Our  daily  toil  may  tend. 

That  we  begin  it  at  thy  word, 

And  in  thy  favor  end. 


lyo 


Prayer, 


MORNING  PRAYER. 


O  SILENCE  deep  and  ftrange  ! 

The  earth  doth  yet  in  quiet  flumber  lie, 
No  ftir  of  life,  save  on  yon  woodland  range. 
The  tall  trees  bow  as  if  their  Lord  pafTed  by. 


Like  to  one  new-create, 

I  have  no  memory  of  grief  and  care  ; 

Of  all  the  things  which  vexed  my  soul  of  late 
I  am  afhamed  in  this  calm  morning  air. 


This  world,  with  all  its  band 
Of  clamorous  joys  and  griefs,  fhall  be  to  me 
A  bridge  whereon,  my  pilgrim-ftafF  in  hand, 

I  crofs  the  ftream  of  Time,  O  Lord,  to  thee. 

From  the  German  of  J.  F.  Eichendorf. 


Prayer. 


171 


HYMN  OF  TRUST. 

OLOVE  Divine,  that  ftooped  to  (hare 
Our  fharpeft  pang,  our  bittereft  tear. 

On  Thee  we  caft  each  earthborn  care. 

We  smile  at  pain  while  Thou  art  near  ! 

Though  long  the  weary  way  we  tread. 

And  sorrow  crown  each  lingering  year. 

No  path  we  ihun,  no  darknefs  dread. 

Our  hearts  ftill  whispering.  Thou  art  near  ! 

When  drooping  pleasure  turns  to  grief. 

And  trembling  faith  is  changed  to  fear. 

The  murmuring  wind,  the  quivering  leaf. 

Shall  softly  tell  us.  Thou  art  near  ! 

On  Thee  we  fling  our  burdening  woe, 

O  Love  Divine,  forever  dear. 

Content  to  suffer,  while  we  know. 

Living  and  dying.  Thou  art  near  ! 

Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes. 


172  Prayer, 


MORNING  HYMN. 

Awake,  my  soul!  awake,  mine  eyes! 

Awake,  my  drowsy  faculties  ! 

Awake,  and  see  the  new-born  light 
Spring  from  the  darksome  womb  of  night  ! 

Look  up  and  see  the  unwearied  sun, 

Already  has  his  race  begun. 

The  pretty  lark  is  mounted  high. 

And  fings  her  matins  in  the  fky. 

Arise,  my  soul !  and  thou,  my  voice. 

In  songs  of  praise  early  rejoice! 

O  great  Creator !  heavenly  King  ! 

Thy  praises  ever  let  me  fing ! 

Thy  power  has  made,  thy  goodnefs  kept. 

This  fencelefs  body  while  I  flept ; 

Yet  one  day  more  has  given  me 
From  all  the  powers  of  darknefs  free. 

Oh  !  keep  my  heart  from  fin  secure, 

•  My  life  unblameable  and  pure  ; 

That  when  the  laft  of  all  my  days  is  come. 
Cheerful  and  fearlefs  I  may  wait  my  doom. 

Thomas  Flatman.  1633—1688. 


Prayer.  173 


EVENING  HYMN. 

SLEEP!  drowsy  Sleep!  come  close  mine  eyes, 
Tired  with  beholding  vanities  : 

Sweet  numbers,  come,  and  chase  away 
The  toils  and  follies  of  the  day. 

On  your  soft  bosom  will  I  lie. 

Forget  the  world,  and  learn  to  die. 

O  Israel’s  watchful  Shepherd !  spread 
Tents  of  angels  round  my  bed; 

Let  not  the  spirits  of  the  air 
While  1  {lumber  me  ensnare  ; 

But  save  thy  suppliant  free  from  harms. 

Clasped  in  thine  everlafting  arms. 

Clouds  and  thick  darknefs  are  thy  throne,  ^ 

Thy  wonderful  pavilion  ;  > 

Oh !  dart  from  thence  a  fhining  ray. 

And  then  my  midnight  fhall  be  day! 

Thus  when  the  morn  in  crimson  dreffed. 

Breaks  through  the  windows  of  the  East, 

My  hymns  of  thankful  praise  fhall  rise 
Like  incense  at  the  morning  sacrifice  ! 

Thomas  Flatman. 


^74- 


evening  HYMN. 

Quietly  reft  the  woods  and  dales, 
Silence  round  the  hearth  prevails, 
The  world  is  all  afleep  : 

Thou,  my  soul,  in  thought  arise. 

Seek  thy  Father  in  the  Ikies, 

And  holy  vigils  with  Him  keep. 

Sun,  where  hideft  thou  thy  light  ? 

Art  thou  driven,  hence  by  Night, 

Thy  dark  and  ancient  foe  ? 

Go !  another  Sun  is  mine  — 

Jesus  comes  with  light  divine. 

To  cheer  my  pilgrimage  below. 

Now  that  day  has  pafled  away. 

Golden  ftars  in  bright  array 
Bespangle  the  blue  Iky  : 

Bright  and  clear,  so  would  I  ftand. 

When  I  hear  my  Lord’s  command 
To  leave  this  earth,  and  upward  fly. 

Now  this  body  seeks  for  reft. 

From  its  veftments  all  undreft. 

Types  of  mortality  : 

Chrift  {ball  give  me  soon  to  wear. 


Garments  beautiful  and  fair  — 

White  robes  of  glorious  majefty. 

Head,  and  feet,  and  hands,  once  more 
Joy  to  think  of  labor  o’er. 

And  night  with  gladnefs  see. 

O  my  heart !  thou  too  (halt  know 
Reft  from  all  thy  toil  below. 

And  from  earth’s  turmoil  soon  be  free. 

Weary  limbs,  now  reft  ye  here; 

Safe  from  danger  and  from  fear, 

Seek  Humber  on  this  bed  ; 

Deeper  reft  ere  long  to  fhare. 

Other  hands  ftiall  soon  prepare 
My  narrow  couch  among  the  dead. 

While  my  eyes  I  gently  close. 

Stealing  o’er  me  soft  repose. 

Who  fhall  my  guardian  be  ? 

Soul  and  body  now  I  leave, 

(And  Thou  wilt  the  truft  receive,) 

O  Israel’s  Watchman!  unto  Thee. 

O  my  friends  !  from  you  this  day 
May  all  ill  have  fled  away. 

No  danger  near  have  come. 

Now,  O  my  God,  these  dear  ones  keep  ; 

Give  to  my  beloved  fleep. 

And  angels  send  to  guard  their  home  ! 

Paul  Gerhardt, 


1 76  Prayer* 


EVENING. 

Another  day  is  numbered  with  the  paft, 
Another  night  is  given  us  for  reft, 

Father,  my  spirit  at  thy  feet  I  caft, 

O  !  gather  it  unto  thy  loving  breaft. 

Look  on  its  failures,  efforts,  and  miftakes. 

Look  on  its  inward  ftubborn  roots  of  fin. 

See  how  the  law  that  it  accepts,  it  breaks. 

Lord !  to  thy  secret  presence  take  it  in  1 

Nightly,  Thou  sendeft  reft  to  all  the  earth, 

Sendeft  a  time  for  filence  and  returning, 

O,  Father!  teach  me  all  the  holy  worth 

Of  the  ftill  hours  when  thy  clear  ftars  are  burning. 

Thou  giveft  me  reft  that  with  the  day’s  beginning 
I  may  rise  ftrong  and  fresh  for  the  new  day. 

So,  purged  and  refted  from  its  frequent  sinning. 

May  my  soul  rise  prepared  for  its  ftrait  way. 

Blefs  those  that  love  me,  those  that  love  me  not. 
Strengthen  the  feeble  and  uplift  the  grieving. 

Send  to  thy  children,  in  whatever  lot. 

Riches,  and  peace,  and  ftrength  in  true  believing. 


Prayer.  177 

So  to  thy  arms  my  body  I  commit. 

My  weary  body  to  thine  arms  outspread  : 

Prepare  me  to  accomplish  what  is  fit, 

And  peace  and  purenefs  watch  befide  my  bed. 

UNTO  the  glory  of  thy  Holy  Name, 

Eternal  God  !  whom  I  both  love  and  fear. 

Here  bear  I  witness  that  I  never  came 
Before  thy  throne  and  found  thee  loth  to  hear. 
But,  ever  ready  with  an  open  ear. 

And  though  sometimes  thou  seems’t  thy  face  to  hide 
As  one  that  hath  his  love  withdrawn  from  me, 
’T  is  that  my  faith  may  to  the  full  be  tried. 

And  I  thereby  may  only  better  see 

How  weak  I  am  when  not  upheld  by  Thee. 

‘Thomas  Ellwood.  1669. 

IMMANUEL. 

HOW  good  a  God  have  we  !  who  for  our  sake. 
To  save  us  from  the  burning  lake. 

Did  change  the  order  of  creation  : 

At  firfl:  He  made 

12 


Chriji, 


179 


CHRIST. 


CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

CALM  on  the  liftening  ear  of  night 
Come  Heaven’s  melodious  drains, 
Where  wild  Judea  ftretches  far 
Her  silver-mantled  plains  ! 

Celeftial  choirs,  from  courts  above. 

Shed  sacred  glories  there  ; 

And  angels,  with  their  sparkling  lyres. 
Make  mufic  on  the  air. 

The  answering  hills  of  Paleftine 
Send  back  the  glad  reply  ; 

And  greet,  from  all  their  holy  heights. 
The  dayspring  from  on  high. 

On  the  blue  depths  of  Galilee 
There  comes  a  holier  calm. 

And  Sharon  waves,  in  solemn  praise. 
Her  filent  groves  of  palm. 


Glory  to  God  !  ”  the  sounding  fkies 
Loud  with  their  anthems  ring  ;  — 

Peace  to  the  earth,  —  good-will  to  men, 

From  heaven’s  Eternal  King  ! 

Light  on  thy  hills,  Jerusalem  ! 

The  Saviour  now  is  born  ! 

And  bright  on  Bethlehem^s  joyous  plains 
Breaks  the  firft  Chriftmas  morn. 

Rev.  E.  H,  Sears. 


A  HYMN  OF  THE  NATIVITY,  SUNG  BY  THE 

SHEPHERDS. 

Gloomy  night  embraced  the  place 
Where  the  noble  infant  lay  : 

The  babe  look’d  up,  and  show’d  His  face  ; 

In  spite  of  darknefs  it  was  day. 

It  was  Thy  day,  sweet,  and  did  rise. 

Not  from  the  Eaft,  but  from  thy  eyes. 

We  saw  thee  in  thy  balmy  neft. 

Young  dawn  of  our  eternal  day  ; 

We  saw  thine  eyes  break  from  the  Eaft, 

And  chase  the  trembling  ftiades  away  : 

We  saw  thee,  and  we  bleft  the  night. 

We  saw  thee  by  thine  own  sweet  light. 


Chrijl, 


i8i 


Poor  world,  said  I,  what  wilt  thou  do 
To  entertain  this  ftarry  ftranger? 

Is  this  the  beft  thou  canfl:  beftow  — 

A  cold  and  not  too  cleanly  manger  ? 

Contend,  the  powers  of  heaven  and  earth. 

To  fit  a  bed  for  this  huge  birth. 

Proud  world,  said  I,  cease  your  control. 

And  let  the  mighty  babe  alone. 

The  phoenix  builds  the  phoenix’s  neft. 

Love’s  architedfure  is  his  own. 

The  babe,  whose  birth  embraves  this  morn. 
Made  his  own  bed  ere  he  was  born. 

Welcome  all  wonders  in  one  fight! 

Eternity  fhut  in  a  span  ! 

Summer  in  winter,  day  in  night! 

Heaven  in  earth,  and  God  in  man  ! 

Great  little  one,  whose  all-embracing  birth 
Lifts  earth  to  Heaven,  ftoops  Heaven  to  earth  ! 

Welcome  —  tho’  not  to  those  gay  flies. 

Gilded  i’  th’  beams  of  earthly  kings. 

Slippery- souls  in  smiling  eyes  — 

But  to  poor  shepherds,  homespun  things. 
Whose  wealth ’s  their  flocks,  whose  wit ’s  to  be 
Well  read  in  their  fimplicity. 

To  Thee,  meek  Majefty,  soft  King, 

Of  Ample  graces  and  sweet  loves  ! 


1 82  Chriji, 

Each  of  us  his  lamb  will  bring, 

Each  his  pair  of  filver  doves  ! 

At  laft,  in  fire  of  Thy  fair  eyes, 

Ourselves  become  our  own  beft  sacrifice ! 

Crajhaw.  1637—1650. 


THE  ASCENSION  DAY. 

OUR  Lord  and  brother  who  put  on 
Such  flefh  as  this  we  wear. 
Before  us  up  to  heaven  is  gone. 

Our  places  to  prepare  : 

Captivity  was  captive  then. 

And  He  doth  from  above 
Send  ghoftly  presents  down  to  men. 
For  tokens  of  His  love. 

Each  door  and  everlafting  gate 
To  Him  hath  lifted  been. 

And  in  a  glorious  wise  thereat 
Our  King  is  enter’d  in  : 

Whom  if  to  follow  we  regard. 

With  love  and  leave  we  may. 

For  He  hath  all  the  means  prepared. 
And  made  an  open  way. 

Then  follow  ;  follow  on  apace 
Our  Captain  to  attend. 


ChrtJ}. 


In  that  supreme  and  blefled  place 
Whereto  He  did  ascend  ; 

And  for  His  honor  let  our  voice 
A  fliout  so  hearty  make, 

That  ^heaven  may  at  our  joy  rejoice, 

And  hell’s  foundation  fhake. 

George  TVither, 


WHO  FOLLOWS  IN  HIS  TRAIN? 

The  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  war 
A  kingly  crown  to  gain  ; 

His  blood-red  banner  ftreams  afar. 

Who  follows  in  His  train  ? 

Who  beft  can  drink  his  cup  of  woe. 
Triumphant  over  pain. 

Who  patient  bears  his  crofs  below. 

He  follows  in  His  train  ! 

That  martyr  firft,  whose  eagle  eye 
Could  look  beyond  the  grave. 

Who  saw  his  Mafter  in  the  fky. 

And  called  on  him  to  save  ; 

Like  Him,  with  pardon  on  his  tongue. 
In  midft  of  mortal  pain. 


184  ChrijL 

\ 

He  prayed  for  those  that  did  the  wrong: 
Who  follows  in  his  train  ? 

A  noble  band,  the  chosen  few, 

On  whom  the  Spirit  came. 

Twelve  valiant  souls,  their  hope  they  knew. 
And  mocked  the  torch  of  flame  ; 

They  met  the  tyrant’s  brandiflied  ffeel. 

The  lion’s  gory  mane. 

They  bowed  their  necks  the  fl:roke  to  feel, 
Who  follows  in  their  train  ? 

A  noble  army,  men  and  boys, 

The  matron  and  the  maid. 

Around  the  throne  of  God  rejoice. 

In  robes  of  light  arrayed. 

They  climbed  the  fleep  ascents  of  heaven. 
Thro’  peril,  toil,  and  pain  ; 

O  God !  to  us  may  grace  be  given. 

To  follow  in  their  train  ! 

Heber, 


i85 


FOR  ST.  ANDREW’S  DAY. 

WHILST  Andrew,  as  a  flfher,  sought 
From  pinching  want  his  life  to  free, 
Chrift  call’d  him,  that  he  might  be  taught 
A  lifherman  of  men  to  be. 

And  no  delay  therein  he  made. 

Nor  queftioned  his  Lord’s  intent ; 

But  quite  forsaking  all  he  had. 

With  Him  that  called  gladly  went. 

Would  God  we  were  prepared  so 
To  follow  Chrift  when  He  doth  call. 

And  could  as  readily  forego 

Those  nets  which  we  are  snared  withal  ! 

Yea,  would  this  fifherman  of  men. 

Might  us  by  his  example  move 
To  leave  the  world,  as  he  did  then. 

And  by  our  works  our  faith  approve. 

But  precepts  and  examples  fail. 

Till  thou,  O  Lord,  thy  grace  inspireft ; 
Vouchsafe  it,  and  we  fhall  prevail 
In  whatsoever  thou  requireft  : 


1 86  Chriji. 

Yea,  we  fhall  then  that  good  perceive 
Which  in  thy  service  we  may  find, 

And  for  thy  sake  be  glad  to  leave 
Our  nets,  and  all  our  trafti  behind. 

George  Wither. 

THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 

Yes  !  our  Shepherd  leads  with  'gentle  hand. 
Through  the  dark  pilgrim-land, 

His  flock,  so  dearly  bought, 

So  long  and  fondly  sought. 

Hallelujah  ! 

When  in  clouds  and  mifl:  the  weak  ones  stray. 

He  {hows  again  the  way. 

And  points  to  them  afar 
A  bright  and  guiding  ftar. 

Hallelujah  ! 

Tenderly  He  watches  from  on  high 
With  an  unwearied  eye  ; 

He  comforts  and  suftains. 

In  all  their  fears  and  pains. 

Hallelujah  ! 

Through  the  parch’d,  dreary  desert  He  will  guide 
To  the  green  fountain-fide  : 


ChrlJ}.  187 

Through  the  dark,  ftormy  night, 

To  a  calm  land  of  light. 

Hallelujah  ! 

Yes!  His  “little  flock”  are  ne’er  forgot; 

His  mercy  changes  not : 

Our  home  is  safe  above. 

Within  His  arms  of  love. 

Hallelujah  !  • 

Krummacher, 


THE  HEART’S  SONG. 

IN  the  filent  midnight  watches. 

Lift  — thy  bosom-door  ! 

How  it  knocketh,  knocketh,  knocketh, 

» 

Knocketh  evermore  ! 

Say  not  ’t  is  thy  pulse ’s  beating  ; 

’T  is  thy  heart  of  fin  : 

’T  is  thy  Saviour  knocks,  and  crieth 
Rise,  and  let  me  in  ! 

Death  comes  down  with  recklefs  footftep 
To  the  hall  and  hut: 

Think  you  Death  will  ftand  a-knocking 
Where  the  door  is  ftiut  ? 

Jesus  waiteth  —  waiteth  —  waiteth  ; 

But  thy  door  is  faft  ! 


i88 


Chrift. 


Grieved,  away  thy  Saviour  goeth  : 

Death  breaks  in  at  laft. 

Then  ’t  is  thine  to  ftand  —  entreating 
Chrift  to  let  thee  in  : 

At  the  gate  of  heaven  beating, 

Wailing  for  thy  fin. 

Nay,  alas  !  thou  foolifti  virgin. 

Haft  thou  then  forgot, 

Jesus  waited  long  to  know  thee. 

But  he  knows  thee  not  ! 

A.  C.  Coxe. 


TO  WHOM  SHALL  WE  GO? 

“  Lord,  to  whom  fhall  we  go  ?  Thou  haft  the  words  of  eternal  life.” 

•  yohn  6  :  68. 

t 

WHEN  our  pureft  delights  are  nipt  in  the  blos¬ 
som. 

When  those  we  love  beft  are  laid  low  ; 

When  grief  plants  in  secret  her  thorn  in  the  bosom. 
Deserted, — “to  whom  fhall  we  go?’* 

When,  with  error  bewildered,  our  path  becomes  dreary. 
And  tears  of  despondency  flow  ; 

When  the  whole  head  is  Tick,  and  the  whole  heart  is 
weary. 

Despairing,  —  “  to  whom  fhall  we  go  ?  ’’ 


Chriji,  189 

When  the  sad  thirfly  soul  turns  away  from  the  springs 
Of  pleasure  this  world  can  bellow, 

And  fighs  for  another,  and  flutters  its  wings. 

Impatient,  —  “  to  whom  fhall  we  go  ?  ” 

O  blefl;  be  that  light  which  has  parted  the  clouds. 

And  a  path  to  the  pilgrim  can  fhow. 

That  pierces  the  veil  which  the  future  enflirouds. 

And  tells  us  to  whom  we  fhall  go ! 


THE  REFUGE. 


WHITHER,  O  whither  fhould  I  fly. 
But  to  my  loving  Saviour’s  breafl  ! 
Secure  within  thine  arms  to  lie. 

And  safe  beneath  thy  wings  to  reft. 

I  have  no  fkill  the  snare  to  ftiun. 

But  thou,  O  Chrift,  my  wisdom  art : 

I  ever  unto  ruin  run  ; 

But  thou  art  greater  than  my  heart 

Foolifh,  and  impotent,  and  blind. 

Lead  me  a  way  I  have  not  known  ; 

Bring  me  where  I  my  heaven  may  find. 
The  heaven  of  loving  thee  alone. 


igo  Chrift, 

Enlarge  my  heart  to  make  thee  room  ; 

Enter,  and  in  me  ever  ftay  : 

The  crooked  then  fhall  straight  become  ;  * 

The  darknefs  fhall  be  loft  in  day. 

W ’’-Jley. 


THE  VINE. 

John  15 ;  1-5. 

JESUS,  immutably  the  same. 

Thou  true  and  living  vine. 

Around  thy  all-supporting  stem 
My  feeble  arms  I  twine. 

Quicken’d  by  thee  and  kept  alive, 

I  flourifti  and  bear  fruit ; 

My  life  I  from  thy  sap  derive. 

My  vigor  from  thy  root. 

Grafted  in  thee  by  grace  alone. 

In  growth  I  daily  rise  ; 

And  springing  up  from  thee,  the  vine. 
My  top  fhall  reach  the  fkies. 

I  can  do  nothing  without  thee  ; 

My  ftrength  is  wholly  thine  j 


Chriji. 


191 


Wither’d  and  barren  fhould  I  be 
If  sever’d  from  the  vine. 

Upon  my  leaf,  \vhen  parch’d  with  heat, 
Refrefliing  dew  fliall  drop  ; 

The  plant  which  thy  right  hand  hath  set. 
Shall  ne’er  be  rooted  up. 

Each  moment  watered  by  thy  care. 

And  fenced  with  power  divine, 

Fruit  to  eternal  life  fliall  bear 
The  feebleft  branch  of  thine. 

Toplady,  1740-1778. 


HYMN. 

JESUS!  the  ladder  of  my  faith 

Refts  on  the  jasper  walls  of  heaven  ; 

And  through  the  veiling  clouds  I  catch 
Faint  vifions  of  the  myftic  Seven! 

The  glory  of  the  rainbowed  throne 

Illumes  those  clouds  like  lambent  flame  ; 

As  once,  on  earth,  thy  love  divine 

Burned  thro’  the  robes  of  human  fhame. 

Thou  art  the  same,  O  gracious  Lord  ! 

The  same  dear  Chrifl:  that  thou  wert  then  ; 


ig2 


Chriji, 


And  all  the  praises  angels  fing 

Delight  thee  lefs  than  prayers  of  men  ! 

We  have  no  tears  thou  wilt  not  dry  ; 

We  have  no  wounds  thou  wilt  not  heal  ; 
No  sorrows  pierce  our  human  hearts 
That  thoUj  dear  Saviour !  doft  not  feel. 

Thy  pity,  like  the  dew,  diftils  ; 

And  thy  compaffion,  like  the  light. 

Our  every  morning  overfills. 

And  crowns  with  ftars  our  every  night. 

Let  not  the  world’s  rude  conflidf  drown 
The  charmed  mufic  of  thy  voice. 

That  calls  all  weary  ones  to  reft. 

And  bids  all  mourning  souls  rejoice! 


H.  M.  Kimball. 


IN  SORROW. 


My  soul,  why  doft  thou  in  my  breaft 
With  griefs  aftlidfed  grow ; 

Why  are  my  thoughts  to  my  unreft. 

In  me  increased  so  ? 

And  in  thyself  by  mufings  vain. 

Why  doft  thou  seek  for  ease. 


Chriji, 


193 


Since  thou  ftill  more  augment’ft  thy  pain, 
By  such  like  means  as  these  ? 

When  paffion  hath  enflaved  thy  heart, 

Why  seeks’t  thou  comfort  there  ; 

When  thou  deprived  of  reason  art. 

What  reas’ning  cureth  care  ? 

The  more  thy  mind  by  mufing  thinks 
From  sorrow’s  depths  to  rise  ; 

The  further  downward  ftill  it  finks. 

The  nearer  hell  it  lies. 

Let,  therefore,  hence  with  speed  be  thrown 
Those  thoughts  which  thee  attend. 

Before  they  thither  prefs  thee  down 
Whence  no  man  may  ascend  : 

And  let  on  Him  thy  mufings  dwell 
Who,  in  mere  love  to  thee, 

Hath  dived  the  depths  of  death  and  hell. 
That  thou  might’st  eased  be. 

Sweet  Jesu  !  for  thy  paffion  sake. 

This  favour  fhow  to  me  ; 

Out  of  my  heart  the  sorrows  take 
Which  therein  raging  be  : 

My  paffion  calm,  mv  soul  diredf. 

Her  thoughts  on  Thee  to  place  ; 

On  my  much  troubled  mind  refledl 
The  brightnefs  of  thy  face. 

13 


1 94  Chriji. 

Yea,  let  contrition  for  my  fin 
So  purge  out  carnal  grief, 

That  joy  celeftial  may  bring  in 
The  fullnefs  of  relief : 

So  this  my  sorrow  fhall  but  add 
A  relifh  to  my  joy. 

And  cause  contentments  to  be  had. 

Which  nothing  can  deftroy. 

George  Wither. 

CHRIST  THE  PURIFIER. 

He  that  from  drofs  would  win  the  precious  ore. 
Bends  o’er  the  crucible  an  earneft  eye. 

The  subtle  searching  procefs  to  explore. 

Left  the  one  brilliant  moment  ftiould  pafs  by. 

When  in  the  molten  silver’s  virgin  mafs 
He  meets  his  pidfured  face,  as  in  a  glafs. 

Thus  in  God’s  furnace  are  his  people  tried  ; 

Thrice  happy  they  who  to  the  end  endure ! 

But  who  the  fiery  trial  may  abide  ? 

Who  from  the  crucible  come  forth  so  pure. 

That  He,  whose  eye  of  flame  looks  through  the  whole. 
May  see  His  image  perfedt  in  his  soul  ? 

Not  with  an  evanescent  glimpse  alone. 

As  in  that  mirror  the  refiner’s  face. 


Chr'ijh 


195 


But  ftampt  with  Heaven’s  broad  fignet,  there  be  fhown 
Immanuel’s  features,  full  of  truth  and  grace, 

And  round  that  seal  of  love  this  motto  be, 

“  Not  for  a  moment^  hut —  Eternity ^ 

Montgomery. 


THAT  ROCK  IS  CHRIST. 

My  hope  is  built  on  nothing  lefs 

Than  Jesus’  blood  and  righteousnefs  ; 

I  dare  not  truft  the  sweeteft  frame. 

But  wholly  lean  on  Jesus’  name. 

On  Chrift  the  solid  rock  I  ftand, 
All  other  ground  is  finking  sand. 

When  darknefs  veils  his  lovely  face, 

I  reft  on  his  unchanging  grace  ; 

In  every  high  and  ftormy  gale. 

My  anchor  holds  within  the  veil. 

On  Chrift  the  solid  rock  I  ftand. 
All  other  ground  is  finking  sand. 

His  oath,  his  covenant,  and  blood. 

Support  me  in  the  finking  flood  ; 

When  every  earthly  prop  gives  way. 

He  then  is  all  my  hope  and  ftay. 

On  Chrift  the  solid  rock  I  ftand, 
All  other  ground  is  finking  sand. 


196  Chriji. 

When  I  fhall  launch  to  worlds  unseen, 

O  may  I  then  be  found  in  him, 

Dreft  in  his  righteousnefs  alone, 

Faultlefs  to  Hand  before  the  throne. 

On  Chrift  the  solid  rock  I  ftand. 
All  other  ground  is  finking  sand. 

Rees» 


JESUS  OF  NAZARETH  PASSETH  BY. 


WATCHER,  who  wakefi:  by  the  bed  of  pain. 

While  ftars  sweep  on  with  their  midnight  train. 
Stifling  the  tear  for  thy  loved  one’s  sake. 

Holding  thy  breath  left  his  fleep  fliould  break. 

In  thy  lonelieft  hour  there ’s  a  helper  nigh, 

“  Jesus  of  Nazareth  palTeth  by.” 

Stranger,  afar  from  thy  native  land. 

Whom  no  man  takes  with  a  brother’s  hand. 

Table  and  hearthftones  are  glowing  free. 

Casements  are  sparkling,  but  not  for  thee. 

There  is  one  can  tell  of  a  home  on  high, 

‘‘  Jesus  of  Nazareth  palTeth  by.” 

Sad  one,  in  secret  bending  low, 

A  dart  in  thy  heart,  that  the  world  may  not  know, 
Wreftling  the  favor  of  God  to  win, 

The  seal  of  pardon  for  days  of  fin. 


Chriji.  197 

Prefs  on,  prefs  on,  with  thy  prayerful  cry, 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  pafleth  by.’* 

Mourner,  who  fitteth  in  church-yard  lone. 

Scanning  the  lines  on  that  marble  ftone. 

Plucking  the  weeds  from  thy  childrens’  bed, 
Planting  the  myrtle  and  rose  inftead. 

Look  up  from  the  tomb  with  thy  tearful  eye, 

“  Jesus  of  Nazareth  pafleth  by.” 

Fading  one,  with  the  hectic  ftreak. 

In  thy  vein  of  fire  and  thy  wafted  cheek, 

Fear’st  thou  the  fliade  of  the  darkened  vale. 

Look  to  the  guide  who  can  never  fail. 

He  hath  trod  it  Himself,  He  will  hear  thy  cry, 
‘‘Jesus  of  Nazareth  palfeth  by.” 


CHRIST. 


JESUS,  my  Saviour,  look  on  me. 
For  I  am  weary  and  oppreft, 

I  come  to  caft  my  soul  on  thee. 

Thou  art  my  reji. 


Look  down  on  me,  for  I  am  weak  ; 
I  feel  the  toilsome  journey’s  length  ; 


198  Chrift, 

Thine  aid  omnipotent  I  seek  ; 

Thou  art  my  Jirength, 

I  am  bewilder’d  on  my  way ; 

Dark  and  tempeftuous  is  the  night ; 

O  fhed  thou  forth  some  cheering  ray  ; 

Thou  art  my  light. 

% 

Why  feel  I  desolate  and  lone  ? 

Thy  praises  fhould  my  thoughts  employ  ; 

Thy  presence  can  pour  gladnefs  down  ; 

Thou  art  my  joy. 

Thou  haft  on  me  so  much  beftow’d, 

Surely  I  may  relinquifti  health  ; 

Thou  ’ft  made  me  rich,  yea,  rich  towards  God  ; 

Thou  art  my  wealth. 

I  hear  the  ftorms  around  me  rise. 

But,  when  I  dread  the  impending  ftiock. 

My  spirit  to  her  refuge  flies  ; 

Thou  art  my  rock. 

When  the  accuser  flings  his  darts, 

I  look  to  thee  —  my  terrors  cease  ; 

Thy  crofs  a  hiding-place  imparts  ; 

Thou  art  my  peace. 

Vain  is  all  human  help  for  me, 

I  dare  not  truft  an  earthly  prop  ; 


/  ChriJ},  ]  99 

My  sole  reliance  is  on  thee; 

Thou  art  my  hope. 

Full  many  a  conflidl  muft  be  fought! 

But  {hall  I  perifh  ?  {hall  I  yield  ? 

Is  that  bright  motto  given  for  nought, 

Thou  art  my  Jhield? 

Standing  alone  on  Jordan’s  brink, 

In  that  tremendous,  lateft  ftrife. 

Thou  wilt  not  suffer  me  to  fink  ; 

Thou  art  my  life. 

Thou  wilt  my  every  want  supply 
E’en  to  the  end,  whate’er  befall  ; 

Through  life,  in  death,  eternally. 

Thou  art  my  all. 

Macduff. 

- 

CHRIST’S  INVITATION. 

WITH  tearful  eyes  I  look  around  ; 

Life  seems  a  dark  and  ftormy  sea  ; 

Yet  midft  the  gloom  I  hear  a  sound, 

A  heavenly  whisper  —  “Come  to  me.” 

It  tells  me  of  a  place  of  reft  ; 

It  tells  me  where  my  soul  may  flee  ; 


200  Chrlji, 

Oh  !  to  the  weary,  faint,  oppreft. 

How  sweet  the  bidding  —  “  Come  to  me  !  ” 

When  the  poor  heart  with  anguifh  learns 
That  earthly  props  refigned  muft  be. 

And  from  each  broken  ciftern  turns. 

It  hears  the  accents, — “Come  to  me.” 

When  againft  fin  I  ftrive  in  vain. 

And  cannot  from  its  yoke  get  free. 

Sinking  beneath  the  heavy  chain. 

The  words  arreft  me  —  “  Come  to  me.’’ 

When  nature  fhudders,  loath  to  part 
From  all  I  love,  enjoy,  and  see  ; 

When  a  faint  chill  fteals  o’er  my  heart, 

A  sweet  voice  utters — “Come  to  me.” 

“  Come,  for  all  else  muft  fail  and  die  ; 
Earth  is  no  refting-place  for  thee  : 
Heavenward  dire61:  the  weeping  eye  ; 

I  am  thy  portion  —  “  Come  to  me.” 

O  voice  of  mercy !  voice  of  love  ! 

In  death’s  laft  fearful  agony ; 

Support  me  —  cheer  me  —  from  above. 

And  gently  whisper  —  “  Come  to  me.” 


Chriji. 


201 


“MY  BELOVED  IS  MINE,  AND  I  AM  HIS.” 

Long  did  I  toil,  and  knew  no  earthly  reft  ; 

Far  did  I  rove,  and  knew  no  certain  home  ; 
At  laft  I  sought  them  in  His  ftieltering  breaft, 
Who  opes  his  arms,  and  bids  the  weary  come. 
With  him  I  found  a  home,  a  reft  divine  ; 

And  I  fince  then  am  His,  and  he  is  mine. 

Yes,  He  is  mine!  and  nought  of  earthly  things. 
Not  all  the  charms  of  pleasure,  wealth,  or  power. 
The  fame  of  heroes,  or  the  pomp  of  kings. 

Could  tempt  me  to  forego  his  love  an  hour. 

Go,  worthlefs  world,  I  cry,  with  all  that ’s  thine  ! 
Go  !  I  my  Saviour’s  am,  and  he  is  mine. 

The  good  I  have  is  from  His  ftores  supplied  ; 

The  ill  is  only  what  he  deems  the  beft. 

He  for  my  friend,  I ’m  rich  with  nought  befide  ; 
And  poor  without  him,  though  of  ail  poflefT’d. 
Changes  may  come  —  I  take,  or  I  refign  — 
Content  while  I  am  His,  while  he  is  mine. 

Whate’er  may  change,  in  Him  no  change  is  seen, 
A  glorious  Sun,  that  wanes  not,  nor  declines  ; 
Above  the  clouds  and  ftorms  he  walks  serene. 

And  sweetly  on  his  people’s  darknefs  fhines. 


202  Chrlji. 


All  may  depart  —  I  fret  not  nor  repine, 

While  I  my  Saviour’s  am,  while  he  is  mine. 

He  ftays  me  falling ;  lifts  me  up  when  down  ; 
Reclaims  me  wandering  ;  guards  from  every  foe  ; 
Plants  on  my  worthlefs  brow  the  vidfor’s  crown  ; 
Which,  in  return,  before  his  feet  I  throw, 

Grieved  that  I  cannot  better  grace  his  fhrine 
Who  deigns  to  own  me  His,  as  he  is  mine. 

While  here,  alas  !  I  know  but  half  his  love. 

But  half  discern  him,  and  but  half  adore  ; 

But  when  Hmeet  him  in  the  realms  above, 

I  hope  to  love  him  better,  praise  him  more. 

And  feel,  and  tell,  amid  the  choir  divine, 

How  fully  I  am  His,  and  he  is  mine! 

Lyte\ 

I  JOURNEY  through  a  desert  drear  and  wild. 

Yet  is  my  heart  by  such  sweet  thoughts  beguiled 
Of  Him  on  whom  I  lean,  my  llrength,  my  ftay, 

I  can  forget  the  sorrows  of  the  way. 

Thoughts  of  His  love  —  the  root  of  every  grace. 
Which  finds  in  this  poor  heart  a  dwelling-place  ; 

The  sunfhine  of  my  soul,  than  day  more  bright. 

And  my  calm  pillow  of  repose  by  night. 


Chriji.  203 

Thoughts  of  His  sojourn  in  this  vale  of  tears  — 

The  tale  of  love  unfolded  in  those  years 
Of  finlefs  suffering,  and  patient  grace, 

I  love  again,  and  yet  again  to  trace. 

Thoughts  of  His  glory  —  on  the  crofs  I  gaze. 

And  there  behold  its  sad,  yet  healing  rays  ; 

Beacon  of  hope,  which  lifted  up  on  high. 

Illumes  with  heav’nly  light  the  tear-dimm’d  eye. 

Thoughts  of  His  coming — for  that  joyful  day 
In  patient  hope  I  watch,  and  wait,  and  pray  ; 

The  dawn  draws  nigh,  the  midnight  fhadows  flee, 

Oh  what  a  sunrise  will  that  advent  be! 

Thus  while  I  journey  on,  my  Lord  to  meet, 

My  thoughts  and  meditations  are  so  sweet. 

Of  Him  on  whom  I  lean,  my  ftrength,  my  flay, 

I  can  forget  the  sorrows  of  the  way. 


COURAGE. 

STAND  but  your  ground,  your  ghoflly  foes  will  fly  — 
Hell  trembles  at  a  heaven-diredled  eye  ; 

Choose  rather  to  defend  than  to  affail  — 

Self-confidence  will  in  the  conflidl  fail  : 


204  Chrift. 

When  you  are  challenged,  you  may  dangers  meet  — 
True  courage  is  a  fixed,  not  sudden  heat; 

Is  always  humble,  lives  in  self-diftruft, 

And  will  itself  into  no  danger  thruft. 

Devote  yourself  to  God,  and  you  will  find 
God  fights  the  battles  of  a  will  refigned. 

Love  Jesus!  Love  will  no  base  fear  endure  — 

Love  Jesus  !  and  of  conqueft  reft  secure. 

Bijhop  Ken. 


MORNING  HYMN. 

SEE  the  Day-Spring  from  afar, 
Ufher’d  by  the  morning  ftar !  ” 
Hafte ;  to  Him  who  sends  the  light. 
Hallow  the  remains  of  night. 

Souls,  put  on  your  glorious  drefs. 
Waking  into  righteousnefs  ; 

Clothed  with  Chrift  aspire  to  fhine, 
Radiance  he  of  light  divine; 

Beam  of  the  eternal  beam, 

He  in  God,  and  God  in  him  ! 

Strive  we  him  in  us  to  see. 
Transcript  of  the  Deity. 


Chriji, 


205 


Burft  we  then  the  bands  of  death, 

Rais’d  by  his  all-quick’ning  breath  ; 

Long  we  to  be  loos’d  from  earth, 

Struggle  into  second  birth. 

Spent  at  length  in  nature’s  night ; 

Chrift  attends  to  give  us  light, 

Chrift  attends  himself  to  give  5 
God  we  now  may  see,  and  live. 

Tho’  the  outward  man  decay. 

Form’d  within  us  day  by  day. 

Still  the  inner  man  we  view, 

Chrift  creating  all  things  new. 

Thou  the  life,  the  truth,  the  way. 

Suffer  us  no  more  to  ftray  : 

Give  us  Lord,  and  ever  give. 

Thee  to  know,  in  thee  to  live. 

Wejley. 


2o6 


Chr'iji, 


/ 


A  SUPPLICATION. 

OWAY  for  all  that  live!  heal  us  by  pain  and  lofs  ; 
Fill  all  our  years  with  toil,  and  blefs  us  with  tHy 
rod. 

Thy  bonds  bring  wider  freedom;  climbing,  by  the  crofs. 
Wins  that  brave  height  where  looms  the  city  of  our 
God  I 

Hallow  our  wit  with  prayer:  our  maftery  fteep  in  meek- 
nefs  ; 

Pour  on  our  ftudy  inspiration’s  holy  light ; 

Hew  out,  for  Chrift’s  dear  Church,  a  Future  without 
weaknefs. 

Quarried  from  thine  Eternal  Beauty,  Order,  Might ! 

Met,  there,  mankind’s  great  Brotherhood  of  Souls  and 
Powers, 

Raise  thou  full  praises  from  its  fartheft  corners  dim  ; 
Pour  down,  O  fteadfaft  Sun,  thy  beams  on  all  its  tow¬ 
ers  ; 

Roll  through  its  world-wide  spaces  Faith’s  majeftic 
hymn. 

Come,  age  of  God’s  own  Truth,  after  man’s  age  of 
fables  ! 

Seed  sown  in  Eden,  yield  the  nations’  healing  tree! 


ChriJ}, 


207 


Ebal  and  Sinai,  Mamre’s  tents,  the  Hebrew  tables. 

All  look  towards  Olivet,  and  bend  to  Calvary. 

Fold  of  the  tender  Shepherd  !  rise,  and  spread  ! 

Arch  o’er  our  frailty  roofs  of  everlafting  ftrength ! 

Be  all  the  Body  gathered  to  its  living  Head  ! 

Wanderers  we  faint:  O,  let  us  find  our  Lord  at  length  I 

Kev,  F.  D.  Huntington. 


LIFE’S  myftery  —  deep,  reftlefs  as  the  Ocean  — 
Hath  surged  and  wailed  for  ages  to  and  fro  ; 
Earth’s  generations  watch  its  ceaselefs  motion 
As  in  and  out  its  hollow  moanings  flow  ; 

Shivering  and  yearning  by  that  unknown  sea. 

Let  my  soul  calm  itself,  O  Chrift,  in  thee  ! 

Life’s  sorrows,  with  inexorable  power. 

Sweep  desolation  o’er  this  mortal  plain  ; 

And  human  loves  and  hopes  fly  as  the  chaff" 

Borne  by  the  whirlwind  from  the  ripened  grain  :  — 
Ah,  when  before  that  blafl:  my  hopes  all  flee, 

Let  my  soul  calm  itself,  O  Chrift,  in  thee  ! 

Between  the  myfteries  of  death  and  life 

Thou  ftandeft,  loving,  guiding  —  not  explaining  j 
We  afk,  and  thou  art  filent  —  yet  we  gaze. 


2o8  Chriji. 

And  our  charmed  hearts  forget  their  drear  complain- 
ing  ! 

No  crufhing  fate  —  no  ftony  deftiny  ? 

Thou  Lamb  that  hast  been  flain,  we  reft  in  thee  ! 

The  many  waves  of  thought,  the  mighty  tides, 

The  ground-swell  that  rolls  up  from  other  lands. 
From  far-off  worlds,  from  dim  eternal  fhores 

Whose  echo  dafties  on  life’s  wave-worn  ftrands,  — 
This  vague,  dark  tumult  of  the  inner  sea 
Grows  calm,  grows  bright,  O,  risen  Lord,  in  thee  ! 

Thy  pierced  hand  guides  the  myfterious  wheels  ; 

Thy  thorn-crowned  brow  now  wears  the  crown  of 
power ; 

And  when  the  dark  enigma  preffeth  sore 

Thy  patient  voice  saith,  “  Watch  with  me  one 
hour !  ” 

As  finks  the  moaning  river  in  the  sea 
In  filver  peace  —  so  finks  my  soul  in  Thee! 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 


God.  209 


GOD. 

“  Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee  ?  and  there  is  none  upon  earth  that 
I  defire  befide  thee.”  Psalm 25. 

I  LOVE  (and  have  some  cause  to  love)  the  earth; 

She  is  my  Maker’s  creature,  therefore  good: 

She  is  my  mother,  for  fhe  gave  me  birth  ; 

She  is  my  tender  nurse ;  flie  gives  me  food  : 

But  what ’s  a  creature.  Lord,  compar’d  with  thee  ? 
Or  what ’s  my  mother,  or  my  nurse,  to  me  ? 

I  love  the  air ;  her  dainty  sweets  refrefh 
My  drooping  soul,  and  to  new  sweets  invite  me  ; 

Her  fhrill-mouth’d  choir  suflain  me  with  their  flefh; 
And  with  their  Polyphonian  notes  delight  me  : 

But  what ’s  the  air,  or  all  the  sweets,  that  fhe 
Can  blefs  my  soul  withal,  compar’d  to  thee  ? 

I  love  the  sea  ;  fhe  is  my  fellow-creature. 

My  careful  purveyor ;  fhe  provides  me  ftore  : 

She  walls  me  round  ;  fhe  makes  my  diet  greater ; 

She  wafts  my  treasure  from  a  foreign  fhore  : 

14 


210  God. 


But,  Lord  of  oceans,  when  compar’d  with  thee. 
What  is  the  ocean,  or  her  wealth,  to  me  ? 

To  Heaven’s  high  city  I  diredl  my  journey. 

Whose  spangled  suburbs  entertain  mine  eye ; 

Mine  eye,  by  contemplation’s  great  attorney. 
Transcends  the  cryftal  pavement  of  the  fky  : 

But  what  is  Heav’n,  great  God,  compar’d  to  thee  ? 
Without  thy  presence,  Heav’n ’s  no  Heav’n  to  me. 

Without  thy  presence,  earth  gives  no  refedfion  ; 
Without  thy  presence,  sea  affords  no  treasure  ; 
Without  thy  presence,  air’s  a  rank  infedfion ; 

Without  thy  presence,  Heav’n  itself ’s  no  pleasure; 

If  not  pofTeff’d,  if  not  enjoy’d  in  thee. 

What ’s  earth,  or  sea,  or  air,  or  Heaven,  to  me  ? 

^  Francis  Quarles. 

IN  all  extremes.  Lord,  thou  art  ftill 

The  mount  whereto  my  hopes  do  flee ; 

O  make  my  soul  detefl:  all  ill. 

Because  so  much  abhorred  by  thee  : 

Lord,  let  thy  gracious  trials  fhow 
That  I  am  juft,  or  make  me  so. 

Shall  mountain,  desert,  beaft,  and  tree. 

Yield  to  that  heavenly  voice  of  thine ; 


- 1 

God.  2 1 1 


And  fliall  that  voice  not  ftartle  me, 

Nor  ftir  this  ftone  —  this  heart  of  mine? 
No,  Lord,  till  thou  new-bore  mine  ear, 
Thy  voice  is  loft,  I  cannot  hear. 

Fountain  of  light,  and  living  breath. 

Whose  mercies  never  fail  nor  fade. 

Fill  me  with  life  that  hath  no  death. 

Fill  me  with  light  that  hath  no  ftiade  ; 
Appoint  the  remnant  of  my  days 
To  see  thy  power,  and  fing  thy  praise. 

Lord,  God  of  gods,  before  whose  throne 
Stand  ftorms  and  fire,  O  what  ftiall  we 
Return  to  heaven,  that  is  our  own. 

When  all  the  world  belongs  to  thee  ? 
We  have  no  offering  to  impart. 

But  praises,  and  a  wounded  heart. 

O  Thou  who  fitteft  in  heaven,  and  seeft 
My  deeds  without,  my  thoughts  within. 
Be  thou  my  prince,  be  thou  my  prieft, — 
Command  my  soul,  and  cure  my  fin  ; 
How  bitter  my  afflidlions  be 
I  care  not,  so  I  rise  to  Thee. 

What  I  polTefs,  or  what  I  crave. 

Brings  no  content,  great  God,  to  me. 

If  what  I  would  or  what  I  have 

Be  not  poffelTed  and  blelTed  in  Thee  : 


212  God. 


What  I  enjoy,  oh,  make  it  mine. 

In  making  me  —  that  have  it — Thine. 

When  winter-fortunes  cloud  the  brows 

Of  summer-friends,  —  when  eyes  grow  ftrange. 
When  plighted  faith  forgets  its  vows, — 

When  earth  and  all  things  in  it  change,  — 

O  Lord,  thy  mercies  fail  me  never,  — 

When  once  Thou  loveft.  Thou  loveft  forever. 

yohn  ^uarles^  son  of  Francis.^  died  in  1665. 


PSALM  CXXI. 


UP  to  those  bright  and  gladsome  hills. 
Whence  flowes  my  weal  and  mirth, 

I  look,  and  figh  for  Him  who  fills 
Unseen  both  heaven  and  earth. 


He  is  alone  my  help  and  hope. 
That  I  fhall  not  be  moved  j 
His  watchful  eye  is  ever  ope. 

And  guardeth  his  beloved. 

The  glorious  God  is  my  sole  ftay. 
He  is  my  sun  and  fhade  : 


God,  213 

The  cold  by  night,  the  heat  by  day, 

Neither  fhall  me  invade. 

He  keeps  me  from  the  spite  of  foes  : 

Doth  all  their  plots  controul ; 

And  is  a  fliield,  not  reckoning  those. 

Unto  my  very  soul. 

Whether  abroad  amidft  the  crowd. 

Or  else  within  my  door. 

He*  is  my  pillar  and  my  cloud. 

Now  and  forevermore. 

Henry  Vaughan. 


PSALM  CXLVIII. 

COME,  oh !  come,  with  sacred  lays. 
Let  us  sound  the  Almighty’s  praise  j 
Hither  bring  in  true  consent. 

Heart,  and  voice,  and  inftrument. 

Let  the  orpharion  sweet. 

With  the  harp  and  viol  meet : 

To  your  voices  tune  the  lute  : 

Let  not  tongue  nor  ftring  be  mute  : 

Not  a  creature  dumb  be  found. 

That  hath  either  voice  or  sound. 


214  God. 

Let  such  things  as  do  not  live, 

In  ftill  mufic  praises  give  ; 

Lowly  pipe,  ye  worms  that  creep 
On  the  earth  or  in  the  deep  ; 

Loud  aloft  your  voices  ftrain. 

Beads  and  monfters  of  the  main  \ 

Birds,  your  warbling  treble  fing  ; 

Clouds,  your  peals  of  thunder  ring ; 

Sun  and  moon  exalted  higher. 

And  you  ftars,  augment  the  quire. 

Come,  ye  sons  of  human  race. 

In  this  chorus  take  your  place. 

And  amid  this  mortal  throng. 

Be  you  mailers  of  the  song. 

Angels  and  celellial  powers. 

Be  the  nobleft  tenor  yours  ; 

Let  in  praise  of  God  the  sound. 

Run  a  never-ending  round. 

That  our  holy  hymn  may  be 
Everlalling  as  is  He. 

From  the  earth’s  vail  hollow  womb, 
Mufic’s  deeped  bafs  lhall  come. 

Sea  and  floods,  from  Ihore  to  Ihore, 

Shall  the  counter-tenor  roar. 

To  this  concert,  when  we  fing, 

Whidling  winds,  your  descant  bring : 
Which  may  bear  the  sound  above 
Where  the  orb  of  fire  doth  move. 


God,  215 

And  so  climb  from  sphere  to  sphere, 

Till  our  song  the  Almighty  hear. 

So  ftiall  He  from  heaven’s  high  tower 
On  the  earth  his  bleffing  fliower  ; 

All  this  huge  wide  orb  we  see, 

Shall  one  quire,  one  temple  be ; 

There  our  voices  we  will  rear. 

Till  we  fill  it  everywhere  : 

And  enforce  the  fiends  that  dwell 
In  the  air,  to  fink  to  hell. 

Then,  oh  I  come,  with  sacred  lays. 

Let  us  sound  the  Almighty’s  praise. 

George  Wither,  1588—1677. 

— - - 

PSALM  XXIII. 

Happy  me !  O  happy  fheep 

Whom  my  God  vouchsafes  to  keep ; 

Even  my  God,  even  he  it  is 

That  points  me  to  these  ways  of  blifs ; 

On  whose  paftures  cheerful  Spring 
All  the  year  doth  fit  and  fing. 

And,  rejoicing,  smiles  to  see 
Their  green  backs  wear  his  livery. 

When  my  wayward  breath  is  flying 
He  calls  home  my  soul  from  dying. 


2 1 6  God. 


Strokes  and  tames  my  rabid  grief, 

And  does  woo  me  into  life  : 

When  my  fimple  weaknefs  ftrays, 
Tangled  in  forbidden  ways, 

He,  my  Shepherd,  is  my  guide. 

He’s  before  me,  on  my  fide. 

And  behind  me.  He  beguiles 
Craft  in  all  her  knotty  wiles  ; 

He  expounds  the  giddy  wonder 
Of  my  weary  fteps,  and  under 
Spreads  a  path  clear  as  the  day. 
Where  no  churlifli  rub  says  nay. 

To  my  joy-condudled  feet, 

Whilft  they  gladly  go  to  meet 
Grace  and  Peace,  to  meet  new  lays 
Tuned  to  my  great  Shepherd’s  praise. 
Come  now  all  ye  terrors,  sally, 
Mufter  forth  into  the  valley. 

Where  triumphant  darknefs  hovers 
With  a  sable  wing,  that  covers 
Brooding  horror.  Come  then.  Death, 
Let  the  damps  of  thy  dull  breath 
Overfhadow  even  the  fhade. 

And  make  Darknefs’  self  afraid  ; 
There  my  feet,  even  there,  fhall  find 
Way  for  a  resolved  mind. 

Still  my  Shepherd,  flill  my  God, 
Thou  art  with  me  ;  flill  thy  rod. 

And  thy  ftafF,  whose  influence 
Gives  diredlion,  gives  defence. 


God.  2 1 7 

At  the  whisper  of  thy  word 
Crown’d  abundance  spreads  my  board  : 

How  my  head  in  ointment  swims  ! 

How  my  cup  o’erlooks  her  brims  ! 

So,  even  so  ftill  may  I  move 
By  the  line  of  thy  dear  love  ; 

Still  may  thy  sweet  mercy  spread 
A  fhady  arm  above  my  head, 

About  my  paths  ;  so  fhall  I  find 
The  fair  centre  of  my  mind. 

Thy  temple,  and  those  lovely  walls 
Bright  ever  with  a  beam  that  falls 
Frefh  from  the  pure  glance  of  Thine  eye. 
Lighting  to  Eternity. 

There  I  ’ll  dwell  forever,  there 

Will  I  find  a  purer  air 

To  feed  my  life  with,  there  I  ’ll  sup. 

Balm  and  nedfar  in  my  cup. 

And  thence  my  ripe  soul  will  I  breathe 
Warm  into  the  arms  of  Death. 

Richard  Crajhaw. 


2i8 


God. 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  GOD. 


All  praise  and  thanks  to  God  moft  High, 
The  Father  of  all  Love  ! 

The  God  who  doeth  wondroufly, 

The  God  who  from  above 
My  soul  with  richeft  solace  fills, 

The  God  who  every  sorrow  ftills  ; 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory  ! 


The  hoft  of  heaven  thy  praises  tell. 

All  thrones  bow  down  to  thee. 

And  all  who  in  thy  fhadow  dwell. 

In  earth  and  air  and  sea. 

Declare  and  laud  their  Maker’s  might. 
Whose  wisdom  orders  all  things  right ; 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory  ! 


And  for  the  creatures  he  hath  made. 

Our  God  fhall  well  provide  ; 

His  grace  fhall  be  their  conftant  aid. 

Their  guard  on  every  fide  ; 

His  kingdom  ye  may  surely  trufl. 

There  all  is  equal,  all  is  juft  ; 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory ! 


God.  219 

I  sought  him  in  my  hour  of  need  ; 

Lord  God,  now  hear  my  prayer  ! 

For  death  he  gave  me  life  indeed, 

And  comfort  for  despair  ; 

For  this  my  thanks  fhall  endlefs  be. 

Oh  thank  him,  thank  him  too  with  me  ; 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory  ! 

The  Lord  is  never  far  away. 

Nor  sundered  from  his  flock ; 

He  is  their  refuge  and  their  ftay. 

Their  peace,  their  truft,  their  rock. 

And  with  a  mother’s  watchful  love 
He  guides  them  wheresoe’er  they  rove. 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory  ! 

And  when  earth  cannot  comfort  more. 

Nor  earthly  help  avail. 

The  Maker  comes  himself,  whose  flore 
Of  blefling  cannot  fail. 

And  bends  on  them  a  Father’s  eyes 
Whom  earth  all  reft  and  hope  denies  : 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory ! 

ft 

Ah  then  till  life  hath  reached  its  bound. 

My  God,  I’  11  worfhip  thee. 

The  chorus  of  thy  praise  fhall  sound 
Far  over  land  and  sea; 

Oh  soul  and  body  now  rejoice. 

My  heart  send  forth  a  gladsome  voice  : 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory! 


220  God. 


All  ye  who  name  Chrift’s  holy  name. 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory ! 

Ye  who  the  Father’s  power  proclaim, 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory  ! 

All  idols  under  foot  be  trod. 

The  Lord  is  God!  The  Lord  is  God  ! 

Give  to  our  God  the  glory ! 

J,  J,  Schutz,  1673. 


“WHOM  HAVE  I  IN  HEAVEN  BUT  THEE?” 

Thou  art  my  all  —  to  Thee  I  flee; 

Take  me,  oh,  take  me  to  thy  keeping! 
Make  me  thy  vine,  thy  hufbandry  ; 

Be  thine  the  seed-time,  thine  the  reaping. 

For  what  on  earth  but  tells  thy  power  ? 

And  what  but  makes  thy  love  its  theme  ? 

I  read  it  in  the  vernal  fhower. 

It  cheers  me  in  the  summer  beam  : 

It  glows  while  memory  lingers  yet 
O’er  hours  a  mother’s  love  beguiled  ; 

For,  ah  !  a  mother  may  forget. 

But  Thou  wilt  not  forget  thy  child. 

I  had  a  friend  —  nor  false  his  love  ; 

But  him  on  earth  no  more  I  see  ; 


God, 


221 


O  thou  unchanging  friend  above, 

What  is  an  earthly  friend  to  Thee  ? 

Give  me  no  bright  behefl:  of  care, 

No  grovelling  boon  of  envied  sod. 

No  hopes  that  lead  but  to  despair  ; 

Ease,  honors,  w^ealth,  are  not  my  God. 

Nor  aught  in  heaven  ;  for,  angels,  say. 

And  saints  escaped  earth’s  guilt  and  sadnefs. 
What  makes  your  everlafting  day  ? 

What  tunes  your  harps  to  joy  and  gladnefs  ? 

O  !  there  is  nought  in  yon  bright  fky 
Worthy  this  worthlefs  heart  to  own  ; 

On  earth  there ’s  nought ;  friends,  creatures,  fly  ; 
I  pant,  my  God,  for  thee  alone. 


222  God. 


IN  A  DARK  NIGHT. 

WHAT  though  the  comforts  of  the  light 
This  gloomy  night  denies  ; 

Though  me  to  trouble  and  affright, 
Unwelcome  darknefs  tries. 

What  fhould  I  doubt  ?  whom  fhould  I  fear  ? 

Or  why  difhearten’d  be  ; 

Since  thou,  O  God  !  art  everywhere. 

And  present  ftill  with  me. 

What  mischiefs  hath  a  midnight  hour 
My  terror  to  procure  ? 

What  warrant  hath  a  noontide  power 
My  safety  to  affure  ? 

I  find  no  comforts  in  the  day, 

If  thou  thy  presence  hideft  ; 

Nor  can  the  darknefs  me  dismay. 

If  near  me  thou  abid’ft. 

Indeed  the  fiend  that  hates  the  light. 

Doth  oft  occafion  take. 

Amid  the  darknefs  of  the  night. 

These  bugbear  Ihows  to  make  : 

Yet  sure  the  darknefs  of  our  minds. 

Is  that  whereby  this  foe 


God. 


223 


Moft  frequently  occafion  finds 
The  greateft  harms  to  do. 

Me  from  that  darknefs  to  defend. 

Thy  grace,  O  Lord  !  afford  j 
To  me  th’  enlightening  Spirit  lend. 

And  lantern  of  thy  word. 

For  then  though  Egypt’s  darknefs  had 
Inclosed  me  round  about ; 

Yea,  though  I  sat  in  death’s  black  fhade. 
That  light  (hould  guide  me  out. 


George  Wither. 


I  COR.  3  :  22. 


IF  God  is  mine,  then  present  things 
And  things  to  come  are  mine  ; 
Yea,  Chriff,  his  word,  and  spirit  too. 
And  glory  all  divine. 

If  He  is  mine,  then  from  his  love 
He  every  trouble  sends  ; 

All  things  are  working  for  my  good. 
And  blifs  his  rod  attends. 

If  He  is  mine,  I  need  not  fear 
The  rage  of  earth  and  hell ; 

He  will  support  my  feeble  power. 
Their  utmoff  force  repel. 


2  24  God. 

If  He  is  mine,  let  friends  forsake, 

Let  wealth  and  honor  flee  ; 

Sure  he  who  giveth  me  himself 
Is  more  than  these  to  me. 

If  He  is  mine,  I  ’ll  boldly  pafs 
Through  death’s  myfterious  vale  ; 

He  is  a  solid  comfort  when 
All  other  comforts  fail. 

Oh  !  tell  me.  Lord,  that  thou  art  mine  ; 

What  can  I  wifh  befide  ? 

My  soul  fhall  at  the  fountain  live. 

When  all  the  flreams  are  dried. 


WHEN,  before,  my  God  commanded 
Anything  he  would  have  done, 

I  was  close  and  gripple-handed. 

Made  an  end  ere  I  begun. 

If  he  thought  it  fit  to  lay 
Judgments  on  me,  I  could  say. 
They  are  good  ;  but  fhrink  away. 

I 

But  the  case  is  alter’d  now  : 

He  no  sooner  turns  his  eye. 

But  I  quickly  bend,  and  bow, 

Ready  at  his  feet  to  lie  : 


God.  225 

Love  hath  taught  me  to  obey 
All  his  precepts,  and  to  say, 

Not  to-morrow,  but  to-day. 

What  he  wills,  I  say  I  muft  : 

What  I  muft,  I  say  I  will  : 

He  commanding,  it  is  juft 

What  he  would,  I  fhould  fulfil. 

Whilft  he  biddeth,  I  believe 
What  he  calls  for  he  will  give  : 

To  obey  him,  is  to  live. 


His  commandments  grievous  are  not. 
Longer  than  men  think  them  so  : 
Though  he  send  me  forth,  I  care  not, 
Whilft  he  gives  me  ftrength  to  go  ; 
When  or  whither,  all  is  one  ; 
On  his  bus’nefs,  not  mine  own, 
I  lhall  never  go  alone. 


If  I  be  complete  in  him. 

And  in  him  all  fullnefs  dwelleth, 

I  am  sure  aloft  to  swim, 

Whilft  that  Ocean  overswelleth. 

Having  Him  that’s  all  in  all, 

I  am  confident  I  fhall 
Nothing  want,  for  which  I  call. 

Francis  Quarles. 


15 


226  God, 


OMNIPRESENCE  OF  GOD. 

OTHOU  by  Ions  experience  tried, 

Near  whom  no  grief  can  long  abide  ; 

My  Lord,  how  full  of  sweet  content, 

I  pafs  my  years  of  baniftiment. 

All  scenes  alike  engaging  prove. 

To  souls  imprefled  with  sacred  love  ! 

Where’er  they  dwell,  they  dwell  in  Thee,  — 

In  heaven,  in  earth,  or  on  the  sea. 

To  me  remainsi  nor  place  nor  time. 

My  country  is  in  every  clime  : 

I  can  be  calm  and  free  from  care 
On  any  fhore,  fince  God  is  there. 

While  place  we  seek,  or  place  we  (hun. 

The  soul  finds  happinefs  in  none  j 
But  with  my  God  to  guide  my  way, 

*T  is  equal  joy  to  go  or  ftay. 

Could  I  be  caft  where  Thou  art  not. 

That  were  indeed  a  dreadful  thought  : 

But  regions  none  remote  I  call. 

Secure  of  finding  God  in  all. 

Madame  Guy  on. 


God,  227 


GOD  WITH  ME. 

“  When  thou  pafleft  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee  ;  and  through 
the  rivers,  they  lhall  not  overflow  thee  :  when  thou  walkeft  through 
the  fire,  thou  (halt  not  be  burned  ;  neither  fliall  the  flame  kindle 
upon  thee.”  —  Isa.  43:  2. 

My  God  with  me  in  every  place  ! 

Firmly  does  the  promise  ftand, 

On  land  or  sea,  with  present  grace 
Still  to  aid  us  near  at  hand. 

If  you  afk,  “  Who  is  with  thee  ?  ” 

God  is  here  —  my  God  with  me  ! 

No  depth,  nor  prison,  nor  the  grave. 

Can  exclude  him  from  his  own  ; 

His  cheering  presence  ftill  I  have. 

If  in  crowds  or  all  alone. 

In  whatever  ftate  I  be. 

Everywhere  is  God  with  me  ! 

My  God  for  me !  I  dare  to  say  — 

God  the  portion  of  my  soul ! 

Nor  need  I  tremble  in  dismay 
When  around  me  troubles  roll. 

If  you  afk,  “  What  comforts  thee  ?  ” 

It  is  this  —  God  is  for  me  ! 


228  God. 


In  life,  in  death,  with  God  so  near, 

Every  battle  I  fhall  win. 

Shall  boldly  prefs  through  dangers  here. 

Triumph  over  every  fin! 

“  What  !  ”  you  say,  “  a  vidlor  be  ?  ” 

No,  not  I,  but  God  in  me  ! 

C.  F.  Zeller. 


SONNET. 


WITHOUT  the  smile  of  God  upon  the  soul. 
We  see  not,  and  the  world  has  loft  its  light  ; 
For  us  there  is  no  quiet  in  the  night. 

No  beauty  in  the  ftars.  The  saffron  ftole 
Of  morning,  or  the  pomp  of  evening’s  goal. 

That  celebrates  Day’s  marriage  with  the  Sea,- — ■ 

Blue  diftance,  filver  lake,  hill,  glen,  and  tree, — 

Are  sealed  unto  the  spirit  like  a  scroll 
Writ  in  a  perifhed  language.  But  a  ray 
Upon  this  darknefs  suddenly  may  dart. 

And  Chrift’s  dear  love  be  poured  into  the  heart. 

To  clothe  Creation  in  a  robe  of  day. 

Then  doth  the  morning  cheer,  the  night  hath  calm. 
And  fkies  a  glory,  and  the  dews  a  balm. 

Townsend. 


God.  229 


HYMN  OF  A  HERMIT. 

Thou,  Lord,  who  rear’ft  the  mountains’  height. 
And  mak’ft  the  cliff  with  sunfhine  bright. 

Oh  grant  that  I  may  own  thy  hand, 

No  lefs  in  every  grain  of  sand! 

With  forefts  huge  of  datelefs  time. 

Thy  will  hath  hung  each  peak  sublime ; 

But  withered  leaves  beneath  a  tree 
Have  tongues  that  tell  as  loud  of  Thee. 

While  clouds  to  clouds  through  ages  call. 

Thou  pour’ll  the  thundering  waterfall  ; 

But  every  filent  drop  of  dew 
Refledls  thy  ordered  world  to  view. 

In  all  the  immense,  the  ftrange,  the  old. 

Thy  presence  carelefs  men  behold  ; 

In  all  the  little,  weak,  and  mean. 

By  faith  be  thou  as  clearly  seen. 

Teach,  Thou  !  that  not  a  leaf  can  grow 
Till  life  from  thee  within  it  flow ; 

That  not  a  speck  of  duft  can  be, 

O  Fount  of  Being  !  save  by  thee. 


230  God. 

Inftruit  my  soul,  by  fhows  diftraught, 

Too  vaft  and  loud  for  peaceful  thought, 

That  every  quiet  mote  and  gleam 
With  Thee,  to  mufing  spirits,  beam. 

Inspire  me.  Thou,  in  every  glance 
Of  all  our  dreams  confuse  as  chance. 

In  every  change  of  mortal  things. 

To  see  a  power  from  thee  that  springs. 

In  everv  human  word  and  deed. 

Each  flafli  of  feeling,  will,  or  creed. 

To  know  a  plan  ordained  above, 

Begun  and  ending  all  in  love. 

So  smalleft  bubbles  here  on  earth 
With  me  ftiall  claim  a  heavenly  birth, 

And  each  faint  atom  paffing  by 
Seem  bright  with  thine  eternal  eye. 

So  beft  we  learn  what  light  sublime 
Is  hid  within  the  clouds  of  time. 

Whose  darknefs,  dreadful  though  it  be. 

From  those  who  seek  conceals  not  Thee. 

Sterling. 


God.  231 


MY  FATHER  IS  THE  MIGHTY  LORD. 

My  Father  is  the  mighty  Lord,  whose  arm 

Spans  earth  and  fky,  and  fhields  his  child  from 
harm, 

Whose  ftill,  small  voice  of  love  is  yet  the  same 
As  once  from  Horeb’s  fiery  mount  it  came  ; 

Whose  glorious  works  the  angel-choirs  declare  ; 

He  hears  their  praise,  and  hearkens  to  my  prayer. 

My  King  is  God’s  eternal,  holy  Son, 

And  he  anoints  me  as  a  chosen  one  ; 

He  has  redeemed  me  with  his  precious  blood. 

And  for  unnumber’d  debts  has  surety  flood  ; 

He  fought  the  foe,  and  drew  me  by  his  hand, 

Out  from  his  camp,  into  his  Father’s  land. 

My  brotherhood ’s  a  circle,  flretching  wide 
Around  one  fount,  although  a  sea  divide ; 

With  fathers,  who  behold  the  Lord  in  light. 

With  saints  unborn,  who  fhall  adore  his  might 
With  brothers,  who  the  race  of  faith  now  run. 

In  union  and  communion,  I  am  one  ! 

My  journey’s  end  lies  upward  and  afar  ; 

It  glimmers  bright,  but  vaguely  as  a  flar  ; 


232  God. 

And  oft  as  faith  has  caught  some  glimpse  serene, 

So  often  clouds  and  miffs  obscure  the  scene  ; 

Yet,  in  this  longing  ends  each  vifion  dim  — 

To  see  my  Lord,  and  to  be  made  like  him  ! 

My  grave,  so  long  a  dark  and  drear  abyfs. 

Is  now  scarce  noticed  on  the  way  to  blifs  ; 

Once  at  the  gates  of  Hell  it  yawning  lay,  ® 

Now  ftands  as  portal  to  the  land  of  day  ; 

It  takes  me  to  the  Father’s  home  so  bleft ; 

It  brings  me  to  the  feaft,  a  welcome  gueft. 

Lange. 


THE  FATHER,  REDEEMER,  GUIDE. 


O  FATHER-EYE,  that  hath  so  truly  watch’d, 

O  Father-hand,  that  hath  so  gently  led, 

O  Father-heart,  that  by  my  prayer  is  touch’d. 

That  loved  me  firft  when  I  was  cold  and  dead : 
Still  do  thou  lead  me  on  with  faithful  care 

The  narrow  path  to  heaven  where  I  would  go. 
And  train  me  for  the  life  that  waits  me  there. 

Alike  through  love  and  lofs,  through  weal  and  wo. 

O  my  Redeemer,  who  for  me  waft  flain. 

Who  bringeft  me  forgivenefs  and  release. 

Whose  death  has  ransom’d  me  to  God  again, 

That  now  my  heart  can  reft  in  perfedf  peace; 


God. 


233 


Still  more  and  more  do  thou  my  soul  redeem, 

From  every  bondage  set  me  wholly  free, 

Though  Evil  oft  the  mightieft  power  may  seem. 

Still  make  me  more  than  conqueror.  Lord,  in  thee. 

O  Holy  Spirit,  who  with  gentleft  breath 

Doff  teach  to  pray,  doft  comfort  or  reprove. 

Who  giveft  us  all  joy  and  hope  and  faith. 

Through  whom  we  live  at  peace  with  God  in  love  3 
Still  do  thou  fhed  thine  influences  abroad. 

Let  me  the  Father’s  image  ever  wear. 

Make  me  a  holy  temple  of  my  God, 

Where  dwells  forever  calm  adoring  prayer  ! 


FOR  THE  SABBATH  MORNING. 

Light  of  light  enlighten  me 

Now  anew  the  day  is  dawning  ; 
Sun  of  grace,  the  fhadows  flee. 

Brighten  thou  my  Sabbath  morning. 
With  Thy  joyous  sunftiine  blefl: 

Happy  is  my  day  of  reft ! 

Fount  of  all  our  joy  and  peace. 

To  Thy  living  waters  lead  me. 

Thou  from  earth  my  soul  release 

And  with  grace  and  mercy  feed  me  ; 


234  God. 

Blefs  thy  word  that  it  may  prove 
Rich  in  fruits  that  thou  doft  love. 

Kindle  Thou  the  sacrifice 
That  upon  my  lips  is  lying  ; 

Clear  the  fhadows  from  mine  eyes 
That,  from  every  error  flying, 

No  flrange  fire  within  me  glow 
That  Thine  altar  doth  not  know. 

Let  me  with  my  heart  to-day, 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  finging. 

Rapt  awhile  from  earth  away 

All  my  soul  to  thee  upspringing. 

Have  a  foretafte  inly  given 
How  they  worfhip  thee  in  Heaven. 

Refl:  in  me  and  I  in  thee. 

Build  a  Paradise  within  me  ; 

Oh  reveal  thyself  to  me, 

BlefTed  Love,  who  diedfl:  to  win  me  ; 

Fed  from  thine  exhauftlefs  urn. 

Pure  and  bright  my  lamp  ftiall  burn. 

Hence  all  care,  all  vanity. 

For  the  day  to  God  is  holy; 

Come  thou  glorious  majefly 

Deign  to  fill  this  temple  lowly  ; 

Nought  to-day  my  soul  fhall  move. 

Simply  refting  in  thy  love. 

B.  Schmolck.  1731- 


Death. 


235 


DEATH. 


A  LITTLE  WHILE. 

Beyond  the  smiling  and  the  weeping, 
I  fhall  be  soon  ; 

Beyond  the  waking  and  the  fleeping, 
Beyond  the  sowing  and  the  reaping, 

I  ftiall  be  soon. 

Love,  reft,  and  home  ! 

Sweet  home  ! 

Lord,  tarry  not,  but  come. 

Beyond  the  blooming  and  the  fading, 

I  ftiall  be  soon  ; 

Beyond  the  fhining  and  the  fhading. 

Beyond  the  hoping  and  the  dreading, 

I  fhall  be  soon. 

Love,  reft,  and  home! 

Sweet  home ! 

Lord,  tarry  not,  but  come. 


Death. 


Beyond  the  rifing  and  the  setting, 

I  fhall  be  soon  ; 

Beyond  the  calming  and  the  fretting, 

Beyond  remembering  and  forgetting, 

I  fhall  be  soon. 

Love,  reft,  and  home  ! 

Sweet  home! 

Lord,  tarry  not,  but  come. 

Beyond  the  parting  and  the  meeting, 

I  fhall  be  soon  ; 

Beyond  the  farewell  and  the  greeting, 

Beyond  the  pulse’s  fever  beating, 

I  fhall  be  soon. 

Love,  reft,  and  home  ! 

Sweet  home  ! 

Lord,  tarry  not,  but  come. 

Beyond  the  froft-chain  and  the  fever, 

I  fhall  be  soon  ; 

Beyond  the  rock-wafte  and  the  river, 

Beyond  the  ever  and  the  never 
I  fhall  be  soon. 

Love,  reft,  and  home  ! 

Sweet  home  ! 

Lord,  tarry  not,  but  come. 

Rev.  Dr.  Bonar. 


Death. 


237 


A  LITTLE  LONGER. 

A  LITTLE  longer  yet,  a  little  longer, 

Shall  violets  bloom  for  thee  and  sweet  birds  fing. 
And  the  lime  branches,  where  soft  winds  are  blowing. 
Shall  murmur  the  sweet  promise  of  the  spring. 

A  little  longer  yet,  a  little  longer. 

Thou  fhalt  behold  the  quiet  of  the  morn. 

While  tender  grades  and  awakening  flowers. 

Send  up  a  golden  tint  to  greet  the  dawn. 

A  little  longer  yet,  a  little  longer. 

The  tendernefs  of  twilight  fhall  be  thine. 

The  rosy  clouds  that  float  o’er  dying  daylight. 

Nor  fade  till  trembling  ftars  begin  to  fhine. 

A  little  longer  yet,  a  little  longer. 

Shall  ftarry  night  be  beautiful  for  thee. 

And  the  cold  moon  fhall  look  through  the  blue  fllence. 
Flooding  her  filver  path  upon  the  sea. 

A  little  longer  yet,  a  little  longer. 

Life  fhall  be  thine  —  life  with  its  power  to  will. 

Life  with  its  ftrength  to  bear,  to  love,  to  conquer. 
Bringing  its  thousand  joys  thy  heart  to  fill. 


# 


238  Death. 

A  little  longer  yet,  a  little  longer, 

The  voices  thou  haft  loved  ftiall  charm  thine  ear  ; 

And  thy  true  heart  that  now  beats  quick  to  hear  them 
A  little  longer  yet,  ftiall  hold  them  dear. 

A  little  longer  yet,  joy  while  thou  mayft  ; 

Love  and  rejoice,  for  time  has  nought  in  ftore  ; 

And  soon  the  darknefs  of  the  grave  fhall  bid  thee 
Love  and  rejoice,  and  feel  and  know  no  more. 

A  little  longer  ftill  —  patience,  beloved: 

A  little  longer  ftill,  ere  heaven  unroll 

The  glory,  and  the  brightnefs,  and  the  wonder. 

Eternal  and  divine  that  waits  thy  soul. 

A  little  longer  ere  life,  true,  immortal, 

(Not  this  our  fhadowy  life)  will  be  thine  own. 

And  thou  fhalt  ftand  where  winged  archangels  worfhip. 
And  trembling  bow  before  the  Great  White  Throne. 

A  little  longer  ftill,  and  heaven  awaits  thee. 

And  fills  thy  spirit  with  a  great  delight  ; 

Then  our  pale  joys  will  seem  a  dream  forgotten, 

Our  sun  a  darknefs,  and  our  day  a  night. 

A  little  longer,  and  thy  heart,  beloved. 

Shall  beat  forever  with  a  love  divine  ; 

And  joy  so  pure,  so  mighty,  so  eternal. 

No  mortal  knows,  and  lives,  fhall  then  be  thine. 


Death,  239 

A  little  longer  yet,  and  angel  voices 

Shall  fing  in  heavenly  chant  upon  thine  ear  ; 

Angels  and  saints  await  thee,  and  God  needs  thee  ; 
Beloved,  can  we  bid  thee  linger  here  ? 

Chrijilan  Regijier. 

- ♦ - 

DEATH. 

WHEN  T'hou  fhalt  please  this  soul  to  enthrone 
Above  impure  corruption. 

What  (hould  I  grieve  or  feare. 

To  think  this  breathlelTe  body  muft 
Become  a  loathsome  heape  of  duft. 

And  ne’er  again  appeare  ? 

For  in  the  fire  where  ore  is  tryed. 

And  by  that  torment  purified,' 

Doe  we  deplore  the  lolTe  ? 

And,  when  Thou  fhalt  my  soul  refine. 

That  it  thereby  may  purer  fhine. 

Shall  I  grieve  for  the  drofle  ? 

Habington. 


240  Death. 


t 


MORTALITY. 

“  And  we  shall  be  changed.” 

Ye  dainty  moffes,  lichens  gray, 

PrelT’d  each  to  each  in  tender  fold, 
And  peacefully  thus,  day  by  day. 

Returning  to  their  mould  ; 

Brown  leaves,  that  with  aerial  grace 

Slip  from  your  branch  like  birds  a-wing. 
Each  leaving  in  the  appointed  place 
Its  bud  of  future  Spring ; 

If  we,  God’s  conscious  creatures,  knew 
But  half  your  faith  in  our  decay. 

We  fhould  not  tremble  as  we  do 
When  summon’d  clay  to  clay. 

But  with  an  equal  patience  sweet 
We  fhould  put  off  this  mortal  gear. 

In  whatsoe’er  new  form  is  meet 
Content  to  reappear. 

Knowing  each  germ  of  life  He  gives 
Muft  have  in  Him  its  source  and  rise. 


Death. 


241 


Beino;  that  of  His  beino-  lives 

t)  o 

May  change,  but  never  dies. 

Ye  dead  leaves,  dropping  soft  and  flow, 

Ye  mofTes  green  and  lichens  fair. 

Go  to  your  graves,  as  I  will  go. 

For  God  is  also  there. 

Mtfs  Muloch. 

— 

DEATH. 

There  are  who  fear  thy  summons.  Death  ! 

And  all  thy  pale  and  cold  array ; 

The  young,  who  with  rejoicing  breath. 

Are  opening  on  life’s  sunny  day. 

Yes!  all  to  them  seems  frefli  and  sweet; 

And  as  they  gaze,  with  raptured  eye, 

On  all  the  beautiful  they  meet. 

They  feel  it  would  be  pain  to  die. 

There  are  to  whom  thy  call  would  come. 

As  to  the  exile’s  weary  heart 
Would  be  the  summons  to  his  home; 

That  home  from  which  he  wept  to  part. 

There  are,  who,  worn  with  cares  and  tears. 

Look  on  thee  as  the  blelTed  one, 

16 


Death. 


242 


Whose  hand  fhall  close  their  mortal  years. 
Before  their  faith  and  truft  be  gone. 

And,  Death  !  there  are  who  look  to  thee. 

But  as  the  minifter  of  grace. 

And  who  thy  dark  approach  can  see 

With  smiles,  for  they  have  won  the  race. 

The  good,  the  blefl: !  to  thee  they  truft 

To  crown  them  with  the  immortal  wreath  ; 
And  fearlefs  of  the  dreams  of  duft. 

As  conquerors  welcome  thee,  O  Death  ! 


RISING  TO  GOD. 

NOW  let  our  souls  on  wings  sublime 
Rise  from  the  vanities  of  time  ; 
Draw  back  the  parting  veil,  and  see 
The  glories  of  eternity. 

Born  by  a  new  celeftial  birth. 

Why  fhould  we  grovel  here  on  earth  ? 
Why  grasp  at  tranfitory  toys. 

So  near  to  heaven’s  eternal  joys  ? 

Shall  aught  beguile  us  on  the  road. 

When  we  are  walking  back  to  God ; 


Death.  243 

For  ftrangers  unto  life  we  come,  ’ 

And  dying  is  but  going  home. 

Welcome  sweet  hour  of  full  discharge, 

That  sets  our  longing  souls  at  large. 

Unbinds  our  chains,  breaks  up  our  cell. 

And  gives  us  with  our  God  to  dwell. 

To  dwell  with  God,  to  feel  his  love. 

Is  the  full  heaven  enjoyed  above  ; 

And  the  sweet  expecSIation  now. 

Is  the  young  dawn  of  heaven  below. 

Gibbons, 

~oC\*)X(Loo- 

MY  GOD!  I  KNOW  THAT  I  MUST  DIE. 

Job  14:  II,  12. 

My  God  !  I  know  that  I  muft  die. 

My  mortal  life  is  palling  hence ; 

On  earth  I  neither  hope  nor  try 
To  find  a  lafling  refidence  ; 

Then  teach  me  by  thy  heavenly  grace. 

With  joy  and  peace  my  death  to  face. 

My  God  !  I  know  not  when  I  die. 

What  is  the  moment  or  the  hour, — 


Death, 


244 


How  soon  the  clay  may  broken  lie, 

How  quickly  pafs  away  the  flower  j 
Then  may  thy  child  prepared  be 
Through  time  to  meet  Eternity. 

My  God!  I  know  not  how  I  die, 

For  death  has  many  ways  to  come, — 

In  dark  myflierious  agony. 

Or  gently  as  a  fleep  to  some. 

Jufl:  as  thou  wilt !  if  but  it  be 
Forever  bleflTed,  Lord,  with  thee. 

My  God!  I  know  not  where  I  die, 

Where  is  my  grave,  beneath  what  flrand. 

Yet  from  its  gloom  I  do  rely 
To  be  delivered  by  thy  hand. 

Content,  I  take  what  spot  is  mine. 

Since  all  the  earth,  my  Lord,  is  thine. 

My  gracious  God!  when  I  muft  die. 

Oh  !  bear  my  happy  soul  above. 

With  Chrifl,  my  Lord,  eternally 
To  fhare  thy  glory  and  thy  love  ! 

Then  comes  it  right  and  well  to  me. 

When,  where,  and  how  my  death  fhall  be. 

B,  Schmolk, 


Death, 


245 


TO  DIE  IS  GAIN. 

WHY  longed  Paul  to  be  diflblv’d, 
And  enter  into  reft  ? 

The  queftion  here  he  hath  resolv’d, — 
To  be  with  Chrift  is  beft. 

And  I,  like  Paul,  defire  to  die, 

I  long  for  death’s  arreft  j 
If  any  afk  the  reason  why,  — 

To  be  with  Chrift  is  beft. 


My  unbelief,  that  bosom  foe. 

Which  lurks  within  my  breaft. 

So  often  seeks  my  overthrow,  — 

To  be  with  Chrift  is  beft. 

Should  friends  and  kindred  on  me  frown, 
And  leave  my  soul  oppreft  j 

Should  evils  crufti  my  comforts  down,  — 
To  be  with  Chrift  is  beft. 

Had  I  a  voice  so  loud  and  ftrong. 

To  sound  from  eaft  to  weft; 

I ’d  tell  the  honor’d  seeking  throng. 

To  be  with  Chrift  is  beft. 


246  Death. 

O  come,  sweet  Jesus,  quickly  come, 

And  cheer  my  fainting  bread: ; 

I  long  to  reach  my  heavenly  home, — 

To  be  with  Chriil:  is  bed. 

Pinion’d  with  love,  I M  take  the  wing. 

And  fly  to  thee,  my  red  : 

There  with  the  Church  triumphant  ling. 

To  be  with  Chrid  is  bed. 

DobelPs  ColleSiion. 

PARTING. 

WHAT  mean  ye  by  this  wailing. 

To  break  my  bleeding  heart? 

As  if  the  love  that  binds  us 
Could  alter  or  depart  ! 

Our  sweet  and  holy  union 

Knows  neither  time  nor  place  ; 

The  love  that  God  has  planted 
Is  lading  as  His  grace. 

Ye  clasp  these  hands  at  parting. 

As  if  no  hope  could  be  ; 

While  dill  we  dand  forever 
In  blelTed  unity  ! 

Ye  gaze,  as  on  a  vifion. 

Ye  never  could  recall. 


Death.  247 

While  ftill  each  thought  is  with  you, 

And  Jesus  with  us  all! 

Ye  say,  “We  here,  thou  yonder. 

Thou  goeft,  and  we  ftay  !  ” 

And  yet  Chrift’s  myftic  body 
Is  one  eternally. 

Ye  speak  of  different  journeys, 

A  long  and  sad  adieu  ! 

While  ftill  one  way  I  travel. 

And  have  one  end  with  you  ! 

Why  fhould  ye  now  be  weeping 
These  agonizing  tears  ? 

Behold  our  gracious  Leader, 

And  caft  away  your  fears. 

We  tread  one  path  to  glory. 

Are  guided  by  one  hand. 

And  led  in  faith  and  patience 
Unto  one  Fatherland  ! 

Then  let  this  hour  of  parting 
No  bitter  grief  record. 

But  be  an  hour  of  union 

More  bleffed  with  our  Lord  ! 

With  Him  to  guide  and  save  us. 

No  changes  that  await. 

No  earthly  separations 
Can  leave  us  desolate  ! 

S pitta. 


248 


Death. 


SOUL’S  joy,  now  I  am  gone, 

And  you  alone, 

(Which  cannot  be. 

Since  I  muft  leave  myself  with  thee, 
And  carry  thee  with  me,) 

Yet  when  unto  our  eyes 
Absence  denies 
Each  other’s  fight. 

And  makes  to  us  a  conftant  night 
When  others  change  to  light ; 

O  give  no  way  to  grief. 

But  let  belief 
Of  mutual  love. 

This  wonder  to  the  vulgar  prove. 
Our  bodies,  not  we,  move. 

Let  not  thy  wit  beweep 

Words,  but  sense  deep  ; 

For  when  we  mifs 
By  diftance,  our  hopes-joining  blifs, 

Ev’n  then  our  souls  fhall  kifs  : 
Fools  have  no  means  to  meet. 
But  by  their  feet ; 

Why  fhould  our  clay 
Over  our  spirits  so  much  sway. 

To  tie  us  to  that  way? 


Death. 


249 

O  give  no  way  to  grief, 

But  let  belief 
Of  mutual  love, 

This  wonder  to  the  vulgar  prove. 

Our  bodies,  not  we,  move. 

Dr,  Donne, 

A  VALEDICTION  FORBIDDING  MOURNING. 

AS  virtuous  men  pafs  mildly  away. 

And  whisper  to  their  souls  to  go, 

Whilft  some  of  their  sad  friends,  do  say, 

The  breath  goes  now,  and  some  say  no  ; 

So  let  us  melt,  and  make  no  noise. 

No  tear-floods,  nor  figh-tempefts  move, 

’T  were  profanation  of  our  joys. 

To  tell  the  laity  our  love. 

Moving  of  the  earth  brings  harms  and  fears. 

Men  reckon  what  it  did  and  meant ; 

But  trepidation  of  the  spheres. 

Though  greater  far,  is  innocent. 

Dull  sublunary  Lovers’  love 

(Whose  soul  is  sense)  cannot  admit 
Absence,  because  it  doth  remove 
Those  things  which  elemented  it. 


250  Death. 

But  we  by  a  love  so  much  refined, 

That  ourselves  know  not  what  it  is, 

Inter-alTured  of  the  mind, 

Carelefs  eyes,  lips,  and  hands  to  mifs. 

Our  two  souls,  therefore,  which  are  one. 
Though  I  mufi;  go,  endure  not  yet 

A  breach,  but  an  expanfion. 

Like  gold  to  airy  thinnefs  beat. 

If  they  be  two,  they  are  two  so  • 

As  ftiflF  twin  compafiTes  are  two  ; 

Thy  soul,  the  fixt  foot,  makes  no  show 
To  move,  but  doth  if  the  other  do. 

And  though  it  in  the  centre  fit. 

Yet  when  the  other  far  doth  roam. 

It  leans  and  hearkens  after  it. 

And  grows  ere6i:,  as  that  comes  home 

Such  wilt  thou  be  to  me,  who  muft, 

Like  the  other  foot,  obliquely  run  : 

Thy  firmnefs  makes  my  circle  juft. 

And  makes  me  end  where  I  begun. 

Dr.  Donne. 


Death, 


251 


THE  FAMILY  IN  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH. 

V  I  AIS  but  one  family, — the  sound  is 'balm, 

A  A  seraph-whisper  to  the  wounded  heart. 

It  lulls  the  ftorm  of  sorrow  to  a  calm. 

And  draws  the  venom  from  the  avenger’s  dart. 

’T  is  but  one  family,  —  the  accents  come 

Like  light  from  heaven  to  break  the  night  of  woe. 

The  banner-cry,  to  call  the  spirit  home. 

The  fliout  of  victory  o’er  a  fallen  foe. 

Death  cannot  separate  —  is  memory  dead? 

Has  thought,  too,  vanifhed,  and  has  love  grown  chill  ? 
Has  every  relic  and  memento  fled. 

And  are  the  living  only  with  us  ftill  ? 

No !  in  our  hearts  the  loft  we  mourn  remain, 

Objedls  of  love  and  ever-frefti  delight ; 

And  fancy  leads  them  in  her  fairy  train. 

In  half-seen  transports  paft  the  mourner’s  fight. 

Yes!  in  ten  thousand  ways,  or  far  or  near. 

The  called  by  love,  by  meditation  brought. 

In  heavenly  vifions  yet  they  haunt  us  here. 

The  sad  companions  of  our  sweeteft  thought. 


252  Death, 

Death  never  separates  ;  the  golden  wires 
That  ever  trembled  to  their  names  before, 

Will  vibrate  ftill,  though  every  form  expires, 

And  those  we  love,  we  look  upon  no  more. 

No  more  indeed  in  sorrow  and  in  pain. 

But  even  memory’s  need  ere  long  will  cease. 

For  we  fhall  join  the  loft  of  love  again. 

In  endlefs  bands,  and  in  eternal  peace. 

Edmejion, 


A  GERMAN  FUNERAL  HYMN. 

“  Here  we  have  no  continuing  city,  but  we  seek  one  to  come.” 

Heh.  13  :  14. 

Wohlauf !  wohlan!  zum  letzten  Sang, 

Kurz  ift  der  Weg,  die  Ruhe  ift  lang. 

COME  forth  !  come  on,  with  solemn  song  ! 

The  road  is  ftiort,  the  reft  is  long  ; 

The  Lord  brought  here,  he  calls  away  ! 

Make  no  delay. 

This  home  was  for  a  palling  day. 

Here  in  an  inn  a  'ftranger  dwelt ; 

Here  joy  and  grief  by  turns  he  felt ; 


Death.  253 

Poor  dwelling,  now  we  close  thy  door ! 

The  talk  is  o’er, 

The  sojourner  returns  no  more. 

Now  of  a  lading  home  polTefled, 

He  goes  to  seek  a  deeper  reft  ; 

Good  night  !  the  day  was  sultry  here. 

In  toil  and  fear. 

Good  night !  the  night  is  cool  and  clear. 

Chime  on,  ye  bells  !  again  begin. 

And  ring  the  Sabbath  morning  in  ; 

The  laborer’s  week-day  work  is  done. 

The  reft  begun. 

Which  Chrift  has  for  his  people  won  ! 

Now  open  to  us,  gates  of  peace  ! 

Here  let  the  pilgrim’s  journey  cease, 

Ye  quiet  flumberers  make  room 
In  your  ftill  home, 

For  the  new  ftranger  who  has  come  ! 

How  many  graves  around  us  lie  ! 

How  many  homes  are  in  the  fky! 

Yes,  for  each  saint  doth  Chrift  prepare 
A  place  with  care  : 

Thy  home  is  waiting,  brother,  there! 

Jesus,  thou  reigneft  Lord  alone  j 
Thou  wilt  return  and  claim  thine  own  ; 


254 


Death, 


Come  quickly,  Lord  !  return  again  ! 
Amen !  Amen  * 

Thine  seal  us  ever,  now  and  then  ! 


F,  Sachse, 


— - 


THE  CHRISTIAN’S  DEATH. 


IFT  not  thou  the  wailing  voice. 


-  J  Weep  not,  ’t  is  a  Chriftian  dieth, — 
Up,  where  blefled  saints  rejoice. 

Ransomed  now,  the  spirit  flieth  ; 

High,  in  heaven’s  own  light,  ftie  dwelleth, 
Full  the  song  of  triumph  swelleth  ; 

Freed  from  earth,  and  earthly  failing. 

Lift  for  her  no  voice  of  wailing ! 

Pour  not  thou  the  bitter  tear  ; 

Heaven  its  book  of  comfort  opeth  : 

Bids  thee  sorrow  not,  nor  fear. 

But,  as  one  who  always  hopeth, 

Humbly  here  in  faith  relying. 

Peacefully  in  Jesus  dying. 

Heavenly  joy  her  eye  is  flufliing, — 

Why  fhoiild  thine  with  tears  be  gufhing  ? 

They  who  die  in  Chrift  are  blefTed, — 
Ours  be,  then,  no  thought  of  grieving  ! 


Death, 


» 


255 


Sweetly  with  their  God  they  reft, 

All  their  toils  and  troubles  leaving  : 

So  be  ours  the  faith  that  saveth, 

Hope  that  every  trial  leaveth, 

Love  that  to  the  end  endureth, 

And,  through  Chrift,  the  crown  secureth  ! 

G,  TV,  Doane, 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT. 

SWEET  babe,  fhe  glanced  into  our  world  to  see 
A  sample  of  our  misery, 

Then  turned  away  her  languid  eye 
To  drop  a  tear  or  two  and  die. 

Sweet  babe,  fhe  tafted  of  life’s  bitter  cup, 

Refused  to  drink  the  potion  up  ! 

But  turned  her  little  head  afide, 

Disgufted  with  the  tafte,  and  died. 

Sweet  babe,  fhe  liftened  for  awhile  to  hear 
Our  mortal  griefs,  then  turned  her  ear 
To  angels’  harps  and  songs,  and  cried 
To  join  their  notes  celeftial,  fighed,  and  died. 

Sweet  babe,  no  more,  but  seraph  now. 

Before  the  throne  behold  her  bow. 

To  heavenly  joys  her  spirit  flies, 

Bleft  in  the  triumph  of  the  fkies. 


256 


Death, 


Adores  the  grace  that  brought  her  there 
Without  a  wi£h,  —  without  a  care,  — 

That  waflied  her  soul  in  Calvary’s  ftream, 

That  fhortened  life’s  diftreffing  dream. 

Short  pain, — fhort  grief,  —  dear  babe,  was  thine. 
Now  joys  eternal  and  divine. 

Yes,  thou  art  fled,  and  saints  a  welcome  flng. 
Thine  infant  spirit  soars  on  angels’  wing  : 

Our  dark  afFedfion  fhould  have  hoped  thy  flay, 
The  voice  of  God  has  called  His  child  away. 

Like  Sam.uel,  early  in  the  temple  found. 

Sweet  rose  of  Sharon,  plant  of  holy  ground. 

Oh!  more  than  Samuel  blefl:,  to  thee  ’t  is  given. 
The  God  he  served  on  earth,  to  serve  in  heaven. 

Cunningham, 

— - 

DEATH. 

O  THINK  that,  while  you  ’re  weeping  here, 
His  hand  a  golden  harp  is  ftringing ; 

And  with  a  voice  serene  and  clear, 

His  ransomed  soul,  without  a  tear. 

His  Saviour’s  praise  is  finging  ! 

And  think  that  all  his  pains  are  fled, 

His  toils  and  sorrows  closed  forever; 

While  He,  whose  blood  for  man  was  fhed, 


Death. 


257 


Has  placed  upon  his  servant’s  head 
A  crown  that  fadeth  never! 

For  thus,  while  round  your  lowly  bier 
Surviving  friends  are  sadly  bending, 

Your  souls,  like  his,  to  Jesus  dear. 

Shall  wing  their  flight  to  yonder  sphere, 

Faith  lighteft  pinions  lending. 

And  thus,  when  to  the  filent  tomb. 

Your  lifelefs  dull:  like  his  is  given. 

Like  faith  fhall  whisper,  ’midft  the  gloom. 
That  yet  again  in  faithful  bloom. 

That  duft  fliall  smile  in  heaven  ! 

Dr.  Huie. 


WHEN  A  SOUL  IS  NEWLY  DEPARTED. 

IF  joy  be  made  when  men  are  born 
To  live  on  earth  below. 

Why  fhould  we  vainly  weep  and  mourn. 
When  up  to  heav’n  they  go  ? 

To  pains  and  griefs  they  hither  come 
And  when  they  hence  are  gone. 

Those  troubles  they  are  eased  from 
Which  here  they  did  bemoan. 

17 


Death. 


Imprison’d  in  a  living  grave, 

The  soul  departed  lay  ; 

And  ease  or  quiet  could  not  have, 

Till  call’d  it  was  away. 

But  we  now  hope  it  is  at  reft 
In  Him  from  whom  it  came, 

And  of  eternal  joys  poffelT’d, 

For  which  we  praise  His  name. 

We  praise  thee  for  that  being.  Lord  ! 

And  for  that  means  of  grace, 

Which  to  that  soul  thou  dids’t  afford 
In  this  inferior  place. 

And  we,  moreover,  praise  thee  now. 

That  thou  haft  set  it  free 
From  those  afflidfions  which  below 
Avoided  cannot  be. 

George  Wither* 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN. 


Deathless  principle,  arise! 

Soar,  thou  native  of  the  fkies ! 
Pearl  of  price  by  Jesus  bought. 

To  his  glorious  lilcenefs  wrought. 
Go,  to  fhine  before  his  throne. 

Deck  his  mediatorial  crown  ; 


Death.  259 

Go,  his  triumph  to  adorn  j 
Made  for  God,  to  God  return. 

Lo,  he  beckons  from  on  high  ! 

Fearlefs  to  his  presence  fly; 

Thine  the  merit  of  his  blood, 

Thine  the  righteousnefs  of  God  ! 

Angels,  joyful  to  attend. 

Hovering  round  thy  pillow  bend ; 

Wait,  to  catch  the  fignal  given. 

And  escort  thee  quick  to  heaven. 

Is  thy  earthly  house  diftrefl:. 

Willing  to  retain  its  gueft  ? 

’T  is  not  thou,  but  it,  muft:  die  — 

Fly,  celeftial  tenant,  fly! 

Burft  thy  fhackles,  drop  thy  clay. 

Sweetly  breathe  thyself  away. 

Singing,  to  thy  crown  remove. 

Swift  of  wing,  and  fired  with  love. 

Shudder  not  to  pafs  the  flream. 

Venture  all  thy  care  on  Him, 

Him,  whose  dying  love  and  power 
Stilled  its  tofling,  hufhed  its  war  : 

Safe  as  the  expanded  wave. 

Gentle  as  the  summer’s  eve. 

Not  one  objedf  of  his  care 
Ever  suffered  fhipwreck  there  ! 


26o 


Death, 


See  the  haven  full  in  view. 

Love  divine  fhall  bear  thee  through  : 

Truft  to  that  propitious  gale, 

Weigh  thy  anchor,  spread  thy  sail! 

Saints  in  glory  perfedl  made. 

Wait  thy  paflage  through  the  fhade  ! 

Ardent  for  thy  coming  o’er. 

See  they  throng  the  blifsful  fhore  ! 

Mount,  their  transports  to  improve. 

Join  the  longing  choir  above. 

Swiftly  to  their  wifb  be  given. 

Kindle  higher  joy  in  heaven  ! 

Such  the  prospedfs  that  arise. 

To  the  dying  Chriftian’s  eyes  ! 

Such  the  glorious  vifta  Faith 
Opens  through  the  (hades  of  death  ! 

Toplady, 


HEAVENLY  MINSTREL. 


Enthroned  upon  a  hiii  of  light, 

A  heavenly  minftrel  fings  ; 

And  sounds  unutterably  bright 
Spring  from  the  golden  firings. 

Who  would  have  thought  so  fair  a  form 
Once  bent  beneath  an  earthly  ftorm  ! 


Death, 


261 


Yet  was  he  sad  and  lonely  here  ; 

Of  low  and  humble  birth  ; 

And  mingled  while  in  this  dark  sphere, 
With  meaneft  sons  of  earth, 

In  spirit  poor,  in  look  forlorn. 

The  jeft  of  mortals  and  the  scorn. 

A  crown  of  heavenly  radiance  now, 

A  harp  of  golden  firings. 

Glitters  upon  his  deathlefs  brow. 

And  to  his  hymn-note  fings. 

The  bower  of  interwoven  light 

Seems  at  the  sound  to  grow  more  bright. 

Then,  while  with  visage  blank  and  sear. 
The  poor  in  soul  we  see  ; 

Let  us  not  think  what  he  is  here. 

But  what  he  soon  will  be  ; 

And  look  beyond  this  earthly  night, 

To  crowns  of  gold,  and  bowers  of  light. 


Edmejion. 


Death. 


GONE. 

Another  hand  is  beckoning  us, 
Another  call  is  given  ; 

And  glows  once  more  with  angel  fteps 
The  path  which  reaches  heaven. 

Our  young  and  gentle  friend,  whose  smile 
Made  brighter  summer  hours, 

Amid  the  froft  of  Autumn  time 
Has  left  us,  with  the  flowers. 

No  paling  of  the  cheek  of  bloom 
Forewarned  us  of  decay  ; 

No  fliadow  from  the  Silent  Land 
Fell  round  our  filler’s  way. 

The  light  of  her  young  life  went  down. 
As  finks  behind  the  hill 
The  glory  of  a  setting  flar. 

Clear,  suddenly,  and  ftill. 

As  pure  and  sweet  her  fair  brow  seemed, 
Eternal  as  the  Iky ; 

And  like  the  brook’s  low  song,  her  voice 
A  sound  which  could  not  die. 


Death.  263 

And  half  we  deemed  fhe  needed  not 
The  changing  of  her  sphere, 

To  give  to  heaven  a  fhining  one, 

Who  walked  an  angel  here. 

The  bleffing  of  her  quiet  life 
Fell  on  us  like  the  dew  j 

And  good  thoughts,  where  her  footfteps  prelTed, 
Like  fairy  blolToms  grew. 

Sweet  promptings  unto  kindeft  deeds 
Were  in  her  very  look  ; 

We  read  her  face  as  one  who  reads 
A  true  and  holy  book. 

The  measure  of  a  blell'ed  hymn. 

To  which  our  hearts  could  move  ; 

The  breathing  of  an  inward  psalm, 

A  canticle  of  love. 

We  mifs  her  in  the  place  of  prayer. 

And  by  the  hearth-fire’s  light ; 

We  pause  befide  her  door  to  hear 
Once  more  her  sweet  “  Good  nio-ht  ! 

O 

There  seems  a  fhadow  on  the  day. 

Her  smile  no  longer  cheers  ; 

A  dimnefs  on  the  fiiars  of  night. 

Like  eyes  that  look  through  tears. 


264  Death. 

Alone  unto  our  Father’s  will 
One  thought  hath  reconciled  — 

That  he  whose  love  exceedeth  ours 
Has  taken  home  his  child. 

Fold  her,  O  Father,  in  thine  arms; 

And  let  her  henceforth  be 
A  meflenger  of  love  between 
Our  human  hearts  and  thee. 

Still  let  her  mild  rebuking  ftand 
Between  us  and  the  wrong. 

And  her  dear  memory  serve  to  make 
Our  faith  in  goodnefs  ftrong. 

And  grant  that  fhe,  who,  trembling  here, 
Diftrufted  all  her  powers. 

May  welcome  to  her  holier  home 
The  well-beloved  of  ours. 

J,  G,  Whittier. 

— — 

GRIEF  FOR  THE  DEAD. 

O  HEARTS  that  never  cease  to  yearn 
O  brimming  tears  that  ne’er  are  dried  ! 
The  dead,  though  they  depart,  return 
As  if  they  had  not  died  ! 


Death. 


265 

The  living  are  the  only  dead  ; 

The  dead  live  —  nevermore  to  die  ; 

And  often  when  we  mourn  them  fled 
They  never  were  so  nigh. 

And  though  they  lie  beneath  the  waves, 

Or  fleep  within  the  churchyard  dim  — 

(Ah!  through  how  many  different  graves 
God’s  children  go  to  him  !) 

Yet  every  grave  gives  up  its  dead 
Ere  it  is  overgrown  with  grafs  ! 

Then  why  fhould  hopelefs  tears  Te  fhed, 

Or  need  we  cry,  Alas  ! 

Or  why  fhould  memory  veil’d  with  gloom, 

And  like  a  sorrowing  mourner  craped, 

Sit  weeping  o’er  an  empty  tomb 
Whose  captives  have  escaped  ! 

’T  is  but  a  mound  —  and  will  be  molfed 
Whene’er  the  summer  grafs  appears;  — 

The  loved,  though  wept,  are  never  loft ; 

We  only  lose  our  tears. 

Nay,  Hope  may  whisper  with  the  dead, 

By  bending  forward  where  they  are ; 

But,  Memory,  with  a  backward  tread. 

Communes  with  them  afar ! 


266 


Death. 


The  joys  we  lose  are  but  forecaft, 

And  we  fhall  find  them  all  once  more;  — 
We  look  behind  us  for  the  paft, 

But  lo  !  ’t  is  all  before! 


GOOD  NIGHT. 

« 

Good  night  l  a  word  so  often  said, 

The  heedlefs  mind  forgets  its  meaning  ; 
’T  is  only  when  some  heart  lies  dead 
On  which  our  own  was  leaning, 

We  hear  in  maddening  mufic  roll 
That  laft  ‘‘  good  night  ’’  along  the  soul. 

“Good  night”  —  in  tones  that  never  die 
It  peals  along  the  quickening  ear  ; 

And  tender  gales  of  memory 
Forever  waft  it  near, 

When  ftilled  the  voice  —  O  crufh  of  pain!  — 
That  ne’er  fhall  breathe  “good  night”  again. 

Good  night  !  it  mocks  us  from  the  grave  — 

It  overleaps  that  ftrange  world’s  bound 
From  whence  there  flows  no  backward  wave  — 
It  calls  from  out  the  ground. 

On  every  fide,  around,  above, 

“  Good  night,”  “  good  night,”  to  life  and  love  1 


Death. 


Good  night !  O,  wherefore  fades  away 
The  light  that  lived  in  that  dear  word  ? 
Why  follows  that  good  night  no  day  ? 

‘Why  are  our  souls  so  ftirred  ? 

O,  rather  say,  dull  brain,  once  more, 
“Good  night!  thy  time  of  toil  is  o’er!” 

Good  night !  —  now  cometh  gentle  deep. 
And  tears  that  fall  like  gentle  rain  ; 
Good  night  !  O,  holy,  bleft  and  deep. 
The  reft  that  follows  pain  ! 

How  fhould  we  reach  God’s  upper  light 
If  life’s  long  day  had  no  “  good  night.” 


Chambers^  'Journal. 


THE  VISION. 


I  FASHIONED  in  my  soul  a  fantasy 
Of  moft  surpafting  richnefs  ;  as  my  heart 
In  memory  turns  to  it,  figh  follows  figh. 

And  my  sad  tear-drops  in  disquiet  ftart. 

I  walked  upon  heaven’s  calm  and  azure  fhore, 
And  o’er  my  ear,  like  murmurings  of  the  sea. 
By  diftance  softened,  came  the  gathering  roar 
Of  the  far  regions  of  mortality. 


Death. 


268 


And  thou  wert  with  me  there  —  thou  beft  and  bright 
one, 

Whom  upon  earth  I  loved  and  loft,  and  thou 
With  that  sweet  voice  that  could  so  well  delight  one, 
Wert  softly  breathing  thy  heart’s  tremulous  vow. 

And  thou  wert  mine  forever  —  yes,  forever. 

In  thine  unfading  beauty’s  earthlefs  bloom; 

There  were  no  mortal  hands  our  vows  to  sever. 

There  for  our  loves  there  yawned  no  mortal  tomb. 

And  thou  bent  on  me  thine  eye’s  meek  affedbion 
With  an  unchanging  gaze  ;  there  was  no  fear. 

No  trouble  in  that  sweet  look,  no  dejedlion. 

No  earthly  ftiade,  save  rapture’s  holy  tear. 

/ 

Then  a  bright  angel,  with  a  lovely  voice. 

Cried,  This  for  all  your  mortal  sufferings  ; 

This  for  your  crofs  in  patience  borne  —  rejoice  !  ” 

The  light  air  trembled  to  his  paffing  wings. 

And  rapturous  was  our  lot  ;  undying  youth. 

Hearts  purified  by  trial,  fadelefs  love. 

Rejoicing  in  the  fulnefs  of  its  truth  ; 

All  that  on  earth  we  vainly  hoped  to  prove. 

And  yet,  though  angels  now,  we  were  meek-hearted  : 

The  vifion  pafled  ;  in  anguifh  I  awoke. 

Shed  some  sad  tears  o’er  heavenly  hopes  departed. 
Then  patiently  put  on  my  mortal  yoke. 


Death. 


269 


THE  REVERIE. 

O!  THAT  in  unfettered  union, 

Spirit  could  with  spirit  blend  ; 

O  !  that  in  unseen  communion, 

Thought  could  hold  the  diflant  friend ! 
Who  the  secret  can  unravel. 

Of  the  body’s  myftic  gueft  ? 

Who  knows  how  the  soul  may  travel. 
Which  unconsciously  we  reft  ? 

While  in  pleafing  thraldom  lying. 

Sealed  in  flumbers  deep  it  seems. 

Far  abroad  it  may  be  flying  — 

What  is  fleep  ?  and  what  are  dreams  ? 
Earth,  how  narrow  thy  dominions. 

And  how  flow  the  body’s  pace  ! 

O!  to  range  on  eagle  pinions 
Through  illimitable  space. 

What  is  thought  ?  can  it  be  bounded  ? 

Will  it  own  a  tyrant’s  chain  ? 

By  material  things  surrounded 
Will  it  in  their  grasp  remain  ? 

No  !  it  walks  at  large  through  nature. 
Leaving  lingering  winds  behind. 


270 


Death. 


Tracing  every  well-known  feature 
Of  the  friend’s  congenial  mind. 

Has  a  ftrange,  myfterious  feeling, 

Something  fhapelefs,  undefined, 

O’er  thy  lonely  mufings  ftealing. 

Ne’er  imprefTed  thy  penfive  mind  ; 

As  if  he,  whose  ftrong  resemblance 
Fancy  in  that  moment  drew. 

By  coincident  remembrance. 

Knew  your  thoughts  —  and  thought  of  you  ? 

When  at  Mercy’s  footftool  bending. 

Thou  haft  felt  a  secret  glow  ; 

Faith  and  hope  to  heaven  ascending. 

Love  ftill  lingering  below  ; 

Say,  has  ne’er  the  thought  imprefTed  thee. 

That  thy  friend  might  feel  thy  prayer  ! 

Or  the  wifh  at  leaft  poftefled  thee. 

He  could  then  thy  feeling  ftiare  ? 

Who  can  tell  ?  that  fervent  blefling, 

Angels,  did  you  hear  it  rise  ? 

Do  you  thus  your  love  exprefting. 

Watch  o’er  human  sympathies? 

Do  ye  some  myfterious  token 
To  the  kindred  bosom  bear? 

And  to  what  the  heart  has  spoken. 

Wake  a  chord  responfive  there  ? 


Death. 


271 


Laws,  perhaps  unknown,  but  certain, 
Kindred  spirits  may  control ; 

But  what  hand  can  lift  the  curtain. 

And  reveal  the  awful  soul  ? 

Dimly  through  life’s  vapor  seeing. 

Who  but  longs  for  light  to  break  ! 

O  this  feverifh  dream  of  being ! 

When,  my  friend,  (hall  we  awake  ? 

Yes,  the  hour,  the  hour  is  hailing. 

Spirit  Jhall  with  spirit  blend  ; 

Fall  mortality  is  wafting. 

Then  the  secret  all  fhall  end. 

Let,  then,  thought  hold  sweet  communion. 
Let  us  breathe  the  mutual  prayer. 

Till  in  heaven’s  eternal  union, 

O  my  friend,  to  meet  thee  there  ! 


PART  II. 

Oh  !  the  hour  when  this  material 
Shall  have  vanifhed  like  a  cloud  : 
When  amid  the  wide  ethereal. 

All  the  invifible  fhall  crowd  ; 

And  the  naked  soul,  surrounded 
With  innumerous  hofts  of  light, 
Triumph  in  the  view  unbounded. 
And  adore  the  Infinite. 


Death, 


In  that  sudden,  ftrange  tranfition, 

By  what  new  and  finer  sense 

Shall  fhe  grasp  the  mighty  vifion, 

And  receive  its  influence  ? 

Angels  guard  the  new  immortal 

Through  the  wonder-teeming  space, 

To  the  everlafling  portal. 

To  the  spirit’s  relling  place. 

Will  fhe  there  no  fond  emotion. 
Nought  of  early  love  retain  ? 

Or,  absorbed  in  pure  devotion. 

Will  no  mortal  trace  remain  ? 

Can  the  grave  those  ties  difTever, 
With  the  very  heart- firings  twined  ? 

Mufl  fhe  part,  and  part  forever. 

With  the  friend  fhe  leaves  behind  ? 

No  ;  the  paft  fhe  ftill  remembers  ; 
Faith  and  hope  surviving  too. 

Ever  watch  those  fleeping  embers 
Which  muft  rise  and  live  anew  ; 

For  the  widowed,  lonely  spirit. 

Mourns  till  fhe  be  clothed  afrefh! 

Longs  perfection  to  inherit. 

And  to  triumph  in  the  flefh. 

Angels,  let  the  ransom’d  flranger 
In  your  tender  care  be  blefl, 


Death. 


273 

Hoping,  trufting,  free  from  danger, 

Till  the  trumpet  end  her  reft  ; 

Till  the  trump  which  fhakes  creation. 

Through  the  circling  heaven  fhall  roll. 

Till  the  day  of  consummation. 

Till  the  bridal  of  the  soul. 

Can  I  truft  a  fellow-being  ? 

Can  I  truft  an  angel* s  care  ? 

O,  thou  merciful  All-seeing, 

Beam  around  my  spirit  there ! 

Jesus,  blefled  Mediator, 

Thou  the  airy  path  haft  trod  ! 

Thou,  the  Judge,  the  Consummator, 

Shepherd  of  the  fold  of  God  ! 

BlelFed  fold  !  no  foe  can  enter. 

And  no  friend  departeth  thence  : 

Jesus  is  their  sun,  their  centre. 

And  their  Ihield  Omnipotence  : 

Blefled  !  for  the  Lamb  fhall  feed  them. 

All  their  tears  fhall  wipe  away  ; 

To  the  living  fountains  lead  them, 

Till  fruition’s  perfedf  day. 

Lo  !  it  comes,  that  day  of  wonder. 

Louder  chorals  fhake  the  fkies  ; 

Hades’  gates  are  burft  asunder. 

See  the  new-clothed  myriads  rise  ! 

18 


Death. 


274 

Thought,  reprefs  thy  weak  endeavor, 

Here  muft  reason  proftrate  fall  : 

O  the  inelFable  For- Ever ! 

And  the  Eternal  >  All  in  All! 

Conder. 

HEAVEN. 

The  golden  palace  of  my  God 

Towering  above  the  clouds  I  see; 

Beyond  the  cherub’s  bright  abode. 

Higher  than  angels’  thoughts  can  be. 

How  can  I  in  those  courts  appear 
Without  a  wedding-garment  on  ? 

Condudf  me,  thou  Life-giver,  there, 

Condudf  me  to  thy  glorious  throne  ! 

And  clothe  me  with  thy  robes  of  light. 

And  lead  me  through  fin’s  darksome  night. 

My  Saviour  and  my  God, 

Rujftan  Poetry. 


Death. 


275 


THE  VALEDICTION. 

WHEN  the  death-dews  dim  my  eyes. 
And  my  bosom  panting  lies, 

Ebbing  life’s  receding  bghs, 

Shorter,  fainter,  growing ; 

Ere  my  spirit  breaks  her  way. 

Through  her  prison-walls  of  clay. 

Into  realms  of  endlefs  day  — 

The  land  to  which  I’m  going  — 

May  the  dear  familiar  band 

Of  weeping  friends  that  round  me  ftand. 

Watching  the  decreafing  sand, 

FafI:  and  fafter  flowing, 

Chant  some  low  flrain,  blending  well 
With  the  solemn  pafling  bell, 

Of  the  holy  home  to  tell  — 

The  land  to  which  I ’m  going. 

Let  them  fing,  “  Dear  suffering  one. 

Soon  thy  journey  will  be  done, 

Thy  fight  be  fought,  thy  race  be  run  : 

Thy  soul,  with  rapture  glowing. 

The  everlafling  hills  fhall  see. 

Where  pain  no  more  can  come  to  thee. 


Death, 


And  neither  fin  nor  sorrow  be  — 

The  land  to  “which  thou ’rt  going. 

“  He  thy  Saviour  and  thy  guide,  i 

For  thy  guilty  sake  that  died, 

Even  now  is  by  thy  fide. 

Comfort  thoughts  bellowing. 

Angelic  forms  their  arms  extend,  ' 

And  smileth  many  a  long-loft  friend 
Glad  welcome  to  thy  journey’s  end  — 

The  land  to  which  thou  ’rt  going.” 

Then,  as  the  burden  of  their  song 
In  faint  sweet  cadence  dies  along. 

One  happy,  radiant  look  among 

That  group  of  mourners  throwing ; 

Juft  as  they  faded  from  my  view, 

I  fain  would  breathe  one  fond  adieu. 

Till  in  that  land  we  meet  anew  — 

The  land  to  which  I ’m  going. 


Death,  277 


OVER  THE  RIVER. 

? 

OVER  the  river  they  beckon  to  me  — 

Loved  ones  who ’ve  crofTed  to  the  further  fide  ; 
The  gleam  of  their  snowy  robes  I  see, 

But  their  voices  are  drowned  in  the  rufhing  tide. 
There ’s  one  with  ringlets  of  sunny  gold, 

And  eyes,  the  refledfion  of  heaven’s  own  blue  j 
He  crofled  in  the  twilight,  gray  and  cold. 

And  the  pale  mift  hid  him  from  mortal  view. 

We  saw  not  the  angels  who  met  him  there  ; 

The  gates  of  the  city  we  could  not  see  ; 

Over  the  river,  over  the  river. 

My  brother  ftands  waiting  to  welcome  me  ! 

Over  the  river,  the  boatman  pale 

Carried  another  —  the  household  pet : 

Her  brown  curls  waved  in  the  gentle  gale  — 

Darling  Minnie !  I  see  her  yet. 

She  eroded  on  her  bosom  her  dimpled  hands. 

And  fearleffly  entered  the  phantom  bark  ; 

We  watched  it  glide  from  the  filver  sands. 

And  all  our  sunfhine  grew  ftrangely  dark. 

We  know  die  is  safe  on  the  further  fide. 

Where  all  the  ransomed  and  angels  be  ; 

Over  the  river,  the  myftic  river. 

My  childhood’s  idol  is  waiting  for  me. 


278  ,  Death. 

For  none  return  from  those  quiet  fliores, 

Who  crofs  with  the  boatman  cold  and  pale  ; 

We  hear  the  dip  of  the  golden  oars. 

And  catch  a  gleam  of  the  snowy  sail,  — 

And  lo  !  they  have  palled  from  our  yearning  heart ; 

They  crofs  the  ftream,  and  are  gone  for  aye  5 
We  may  not  sunder  the  veil  apart. 

That  hides  from  our  vifion  the  gates  of  day. 

We  only  know  that  their  barks  no  more 
May  sail  with  us  o’er  life’s  ftormy  sea  j 
Yet  somewhere,  I  know,  on  the  unseen  fhore. 
They  watch,  and  beckon,  and  wait  for  me. 

And  I  fit  and  think,  when  the  sunset’s  gold. 

Is  flufhing  river,  and  hill,  and  fhore, 

I  fhall  one  day  ftand  by  the  water  cold. 

And  lift  for  the  sound  of  the  boatman’s  oar  j 
I  fhall  watch  for  a  gleam  of  the  flapping  sail  j 
I  fhall  hear  the  boat  as  it  gains  the  ftrand  ; 

I  fhall  pafs  from  fight,  with  the  boatman  pale. 

To  the  better  fhore  of  the  spirit  land; 

I  fhall  know  the  loved  who  have  gone  before,  — 
And  joyfully  sweet  will  the  meeting  be. 

When  over  the  river,  the  peaceful  river. 

The  Angel  of  Death  fhall  carry  me. 

Mifs  N.  A.  W.  Prieji. 


Heaven.  279 


HEAVEN. 


HEAVEN. 

AN  ANCIENT  HYMN. 

Brief  life  is  here  our  portion, 
Brief  sorrow,  fhort-lived  care  j 
The  life  that  knows  no  ending. 
The  tearlefs  life  is  there. 

Reward  of  grace  how  wondrous  ! 

Short  toil,  —  eternal  reft ! 

Oh !  miracle  of  mercy. 

That  rebels  fliould  be  bleft  ! 

That  we,  with  fin  polluted. 

Should  have  our  home  so  high  ! 
That  we  ftiould  dwell  in  manfions 
Beyond  the  ftarry  fky  ! 

And  now  we  fight  the  battle. 

And  then  we  wear  the  crown 
Of  full  and  everlafting 
And  ever  bright  renown. 


280  Heaven. 


I  know  not,  oh !  I  know  not 
What  social  joys  are  there  j 
What  pure,  unfading  glory  ; 

What  light  beyond  compare  ; 
And  when  I  fain  would  fing  them. 
My  spirit  fails  and  faints. 

And  vainly  ftrives  to  image 
The  aflembly  of  the  saints. 

There  is  the  throne  of  David  ; 

And  there,  from  toil  released. 
The  fhout  of  them  that  triumph. 
The  song  of  them  that  feaft ! 

O  Garden  free  from  sorrow  ! 

O  Plains  that  fear  no  ftrife  ! 

O  princely  Bowers,  all  blooming  ! 
O  Realm  and  Home  of  life  ! 


-***®®® 

HEREAFTER. 

I 

OTHOU,  on  earth  beloved,  adored. 

My  friend,  my  father,  and  my  Lord, 
I  see  thee  now  without  a  veil,  — 

Help  ;  or  my  dazzled  fight  will  fail. 

O  bear  me  to  that  burning  throne 
I  scarce  can  brook  to  gaze  upon. 


Heaven,  281 


And  give  my  kindling  soul  to  prove 
The  raptures  of  ecftatic  love  ; 

And  learn  unutterable  lays, 

And  hymn  thee  in  eternal  praise  ! 

Shrink  like  a  scroll,  thou  frighted  fky  ! 

Earth  —  tremble  into  vacancy  ! 

Lift  to  the  pealing  trumpet’s  swell, 

Ye  hideous  depths  of  death  and  hell, — 

Burft  your  ftrong  chain,  your  gates  unclose. 
And  break  the  long  —  the  laft  repose. 

Bleft  train  of  martyred  saints,  arise  ! 

Look  upward  to  your  native  Ikies  ! 

Arise !  and  claim  your  rich  reward. 

And  ftiare  the  triumph  of  your  Lord. 

Behold  the  promised  heavenly  home, — 

The  conquering  palm,  —  the  golden  throne, — 
And  more  than  all,  —  that  beaming  eye. 
Whose  glance  is  love  and  ecftacy  ! 

But  lo  !  what  sudden  splendors  beaming. 

O’er  heaven’s  illumined  arch  are  ftreaming ; 
What  hues  of  varied  beauty  blending. 

What  fair  celeftial  towers  descending ! 

O  Salem,  city  of  our  God  ! 

The  saints’  —  the  martyrs’  bleft  abode,  — 

I  see  thy  gates  of  pearl  unfold, 

I  see  thy  ftreets  of  burniflied  gold  ; 

I  see  thy  towers  of  cryftal  fliine ! 

Meet  temples  for  a  King  divine. 

Hail  perfedf,  pure  in  virgin  pride  ! 

The  mighty  Lamb’s  resplendent  bride ! 


1 


282  Heaven, 


Within  thy  hallowed  courts  are  found, 

No  lurking  cares  to  vex  or  wound  : 

No  dim  eye  fheds  the  hopelefs  tear, 

No  bosom  throbs  with  doubt  or  fear  ; 

And  hulhed  is  Shame’s  tumultuous  thrill. 

And  Pallion’s  warring  ftorm  is  ftill. 

No  bright  sun  beams  by  day,  —  by  night 
No  pale  moon  fheds  her  feebler  light, — 

But  from  that  throne  of  living  fire. 

Where  fits  revealed  the  Eternal  Sire, 

Where  seraphs  raise  their  loudefl;  ftrain. 

To  hail  the  Lamb  that  once  was  llain, — 
Though  Faith  and  Hope  have  palTed  away. 

Love  (beds  a  pure  unchanging  ray  ; 

What  faintly  fhone  on  earth  before. 

Now  beams  and  burns  forevermore. 

Dale. 

— - 

PRAISE  IN  HEAVEN. 

HARK!  hark!  the  voice  of  ceaselefs  praise. 
Around  Jehovah’s  throne; 

Songs  of  celeftial  joy  they  raise. 

To  mortal  lips  unknown. 

Upon  the  sea  of  glafs  they  ftand. 

In  fhining  robes  of  light ; 


Heaven.  283 

The  harps  of  God  are  in  their  hand, 

They  reft  not  day  or  night. 

Oh !  for  an  angel’s  perfe6l  love, 

A  seraph’s  soaring  wing. 

To  fing  with  thousand  saints  above, 

*  The  triumphs  of  our  King. 

On  earth  our  feeble  voice  we  try, 

In  weaknefs  and  in  ftiame, 

We  blefs,  we  laud,  we  magnify. 

We  conquer  in  his  name. 

# 

» 

But  oh  !  with  pure  and  finlefs  heart, 

His  mercies  to  adore. 

My  God,  to  know  thee  as  thou  art. 

Nor  grieve  thy  spirit  more. 

Oh !  blefled  hope !  a  “  little  while,” 

And  we,  amidft  that  throng. 

Shall  live  in  our  Redeemer’s  smile. 

And  swell  the  angels’  song. 


I 


284  Heaven. 

THERE  SHALL  BE  NO  MORE  SEA. 

Rev.  21  :  I. 

"TT^HJEN  tempefts  tofs,  and  billows 
V  V  And  lightnings  rend  from  pole  to 
Sweet  is  the  thought  to  me, 

That  one  day  it  fhall  not  be  so  : 

In  the  bright  world  to  which  I  go, 

The  tempeft  fhall  forget  to  blow  ; 

There  fhall  be  no  more  sea. 

roll, 
pole  ; 

My  little  bark  has  suffered  much 

From  adverse  florms ;  nor  is  fhe  such 

As  once  fhe  seemed  to  be  : 

But  I  fhall  fhortly  be  at  home. 

No  more  a  mariner  to  roam  ; 

When  once  I  to  the  port  am  come. 
There  will  be  no  more  sea. 

Then  let  the  waves  run  mountains  high. 
Confound  the  deep,  perplex  the  fky. 

This  fhall  not  always  be  : 

One  day  the  sun  will  brightly  fhine 

With  life,  and  light,  and  heat  divine  ; 
And  when  that  glorious  land  is  mine. 
There  will  be  no  more  sea. 

Heaven,  285 

My  Pilot  tells  me  not  to  fear, 

But  truft  entirely  to  his  care, 

And  he  will  guarantee, 

If  only  I  depend  on  him. 

To  land  me  safe  in  his  good  time. 

In  yonder  purer,  happier  clime. 

Where  fhall  be  no  more  sea. 

Fyjh. 


THERE  WAS  SILENCE  IN  HEAVEN. 

Rev.  8  :  i. 

CAN  angel  spirits  need  repose 

In  the  full  sun-light  of  the  fky  ? 

And  can  the  veil  of  Humber  close 
A  cherub’s  bright  and  blazing  eye  ? 

Have  seraphim  a  weary  brow  ; 

A  fainting  heart,  an  aching  breaft ! 

No,  far  too  high  their  pulses  flow. 

To  languifli  with  inglorious  reft. 

Oh !  not  the  death-like  calm  of  fleep 
Could  hufli  the  everlafting  song  ; 

No  fairy  dream  or  flumber  deep 

Entrance  the  wrapt  and  holy  throng. 


286  '  Heaven. 


Yet  not  the  lighteft  tone  was  heard 
From  angel  voice,  or  angel  hand  ; 

And  not  one  plumed  pinion  ftirr’d 
Among  the  pure  and  blifsful  band. 

For  there  was  filence  in  the  Iky, 

A  joy  not  angel  tongues  could  tell,  — 

As  from  its  myftic  fount  on  high. 

The  peace  of  God  in  ftillnefs  fell. 

O  what  is  filence  here  below  ? 

The  fruit  of  a  conceal’d  despair ; 

The  pause  of  pain,  the  dream  of  woe;  — 
It  is  the  reft  of  rapture  there. 

And  to  the  way-worn  pilgrim  here. 

More  kindred  seems  that  perfect  peace, 

Than  the  full  chaunts  of  joy  to  hear, 

Roll  on,  and  never,  never  cease. 

From  earthly  agonies  set  free. 

Tired  with  the  path  too  flowly  trod, 

May  such  a  filence  welcome  me 
Into  the  palace  of  my  God. 


Heaven, 


HEAVEN. 

Here  may  the  band  that  now  in  triumph  fhines, 
And  that  (before  they  were  invefted  thus) 

In  earthly  bodies  carried  heavenly  minds. 

Pitch  round  about,  in  order  glorious. 

Their  sunny  tents  and  houses  luminous  ; 

All  their  eternal  day  in  songs  employing. 

Joying  their  end  without  end  of  their  joying. 

While  their  Almighty  Prince  deftru61:ion  is  deftroying. 

Their  fight  drinks  lovely  fires  In  at  their  eyes. 

Their  breath  sweet  incense  with  fine  breath  ac- 
cloys. 

That  on  God’s  sweating  altar  burning  lies  ; 

Their  hungry  ears  feed  on  the  heavenly  noise 
That  angels  fing  to  tell  their  untold  joys  ; 

Their  underftanding,  naked  truth,  their  wills. 

The  all  and  self-sufficient  goodnefs  fills. 

That  nothing  here  is  wanting  but  the  want  of  ills. 

No  sorrow  now  hangs  clouding  on  their  brow  ; 

No  bloodlefs  malady  empales  their  face  : 

No  age  drops  on  their  hairs  his  filver  snow ; 

No  nakednefs  their  bodies  doth  embase  ; 

No  poverty  themselves  and  theirs  disgrace  ; 


288  Heaven, 


No  fear  of  death  the  joy  of  life  devours  ; 

No  unchafte  deep  their  precious  time  deflowers  ; 

No  lofs,  no  grief,  no  change  wait  on  their  winged 
hours. 

But  now  their  naked  bodies  scorn  the  cold, 

And  from  their  eyes  joy  looks  and  laughs  at 
pain  ; 

The  infant  wonders  how  he  came  so  old. 

The  old  man  how  he  came  so  young  again  ; 

Still  refting,  though  from  fleep  they  ftill  refrain  ; 
Where  all  are  rich,  and  yet  no  gold  they  owe  ; 

And  all  are  kings,  and  yet  no  subjects  know. 

All  full,  and  yet  no  time  they  do  on  food  bellow. 

About  the  holy  city  rolls  a  flood 

Of  molten  cryllal,  like  a  sea  of  glafs. 

On  which  weak  llream  a  Urong  foundation  Hood  : 

Of  living  diamonds  the  building  was. 

That  all  things  else,  befides  itself,  did  pafs. 

Her  Hreets,  inllead  of  Hones,  the  Hars  did  pave. 

And  little  pearls  for  dull  it  seemed  to  have. 

On  which  soft  llreaming  manna  like  pure  snow  did 
wave. 

It  is  no  flaming  lullre,  made  of  light ; 

No  sweet  consent,  or  well-timed  harmony  ; 
Ambrofia,  for  to  feall  the  appetite  ; 

Or  flowery  odor  mixed  with  spicery  ; 

No  soft  embrace  or  pleasure  bodily  : 


Heaven. 


289 


And  yet  it  is  a  kind  of  inward  feaft, 

A  harmony  that  sounds  within  the  breaft, 

An  odor,  light,  embrace,  in  which  the  soul  doth  reft. 

A  heavenly  feaft  no  hunger  can  consume  ; 

A  light  unseen,  yet  fliines  in  every  place ; 

A  sound  no  time  can  fteal  ;  a  sweet  perfume 

No  winds  can  scatter  ;  an  entire  embrace 
That  no  satiety  can  e’er  unlace  ; 

Ingraced  into  so  high  a  favor  there. 

The  saints  with  their  beaupeers  whole  worlds  outwear. 
And  things  unseen  do  see,  and  things  unheard  do  hear. 

Ye  blefled  souls,  grown  richer  by  your  spoil. 

Whose  lofs,  though  great,  is  cause  of  greater 
gains  ; 

Here  may  your  weary  spirits  reft  from  toil. 

Spending  your  endlefs  evening  that  remains 
Among  those  white  flocks  and  celeftial  trains 
That  feed  upon  their  Shepherd’s  eyes,  and  frame 
That  heavenly  muflc  of  so  wondrous  frame, 

Psalming  aloud  the  holy  honors  of  his  name  ! 

Giles  Fletcher.  1586—1623. 


19 


290 


Hea  ven. 


NEARER  HOME. 

ONE  sweetly  welcome  thought, 
Comes  to  me  o’er  and  o’er  5 
I ’m  nearer  home  to-day 

Than  I ’ve  ever  been  before  ; 

Nearer  my  Father’s  house 

Where  the  many  -manfions  be  ; 
Nearer  the  Great  White  Throne, 
Nearer  the  Jasper  Sea ; 

Nearer  that  bound  of  life. 

Where  we  lay  our  burdens  down  — 
Nearer  leaving  the  crofs. 

Nearer  gaining  the  crown. 

But  lying  dimly  between. 

Winding  down  through  the  night, 
Lies  the  dark  and  uncertain  ftream 
That  leads  us  at  length  to  the  light. 

Closer  and  closer  my  fteps 
Come  to  the  dark  abysm. 

Closer  Death  to  my  lips 
Prefles  the  awful  chrism  ; 


Heaven. 


291 

Father,  perfect  my  truft  ! 

Strengthen  my  feeble  faith  ! 

Let  me  feel  as  I  would  when  I  ftand 
On  the  fhores  of  the  river  of  Death  — 

Feel  as  I  would,  were  my  feet 

Even  now  flipping  over  the  brink  ; 

P'or  it  may  be  I  ’m  nearer  home. 

Nearer  now,  than  I  think! 

Mr.  Carey. 


THE  TWO  WORLDS. 

TWO  worlds  there  are.  To  one  our  eyes  we 
ftrain, 

Whose  magic  joys  we  fhall  not  see  again  : 

Bright  haze  of  morning  veils  its  glimmering  fhore. 
Ah,  truly  breathed  we  there 
Intoxicating  air  — 

Glad  were  our  hearts  in  that  sweet  realm  of 
Nevermore. 

The  lover  there  drank  her  delicious  breath 
Whose  love  has  yielded  fince  to  change  or  death  ; 

The  mother  kifled  her  child  whose  days  are  o’er. 
Alas  !  too  soon  have  fled 
The  irreclaimable  dead  : 

We  see  them  —  vifions  flrange — amid  the 
Nevermore. 


292 


Heaven, 


The  merry  song  some  maiden  used  to  fing  — 

The  brown,  brown  hair  that  once  was  wont  to  cling 
To  temples  long  clay-cold  :  to  the  very  core 
They  ftrike  our  weary  hearts, 

As  some  vexed  memory  ftarts 
From  that  long  faded  land  —  the  realm  of 
Nevermore. 

I 

It  is  perpetual  summer  there.  But  here 
Sadly  we  may  remember  rivers  clear, 

And  harebells  quivering  on  the  meadow-floor. 

For  brighter  bells  and  bluer. 

For  tenderer  hearts  and  truer. 

People  that  happy  land  —  the  realm  of 
Nevermore, 

Upon  the  frontier  of  this  fhadowy  land 
We,  pilgrims  of  eternal  sorrow,  ftand  : 

What  realm  lies  forward,  with  its  happier  flore 
Of  forefts  green  and  deep. 

Of  valleys  hufhed  in  fleep, 

And  lakes  mofl:  peaceful  ?  ’T  is  the  land  of 
Evermore. 

Very  far  off  its  marble  cities  seem  — 

Very  far  off — beyond  our  sensual  dream  — 

Its  woods,  unruffled  by  the  wild  winds’  roar  : 

Yet  does  the  turbulent  surge 
Howl  on  its  very  verge. 

One  moment  —  and  we  breathe  within  the 

t 

Evermore. 


Heaven.  293 

They  whom  we  loved  and  loft  so  long  ago. 

Dwell  in  those  cities,  far  from  mortal  woe  — 

Haunt  those  frefti  woodlands,  whence  sweet  carol- 
lings  soar. 

Eternal  peace  have  they  : 

God  wipes  their  tears  away  : 

They  drink  that  river  of  life  which  flows  for 
Evermore. 

Thither  we  haften  through  these  regions  dim. 

But  lo  !  the  wide  wings  of  the  Seraphim 
Shine  in  the  sunset !  On  that  joyous  fliore 
Our  lightened  hearts  ftiall  know 
The  life  of  long  ago  : 

The  sorrow-burdened  paft  fhall  fade  for 
Evermore. 

Dublin  Univerftty  Magaxine. 


I 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


Miscellaneous. 


297 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE  SOUL. 

Again,  How  can  Ihe  but  immortal  be, 

When  with  the  motions  of  both  will  and  wit 
She  ftill  aspireth  to  eternity. 

And  never  refts  till  fhe  attain  to  it  ? 

Water  in  conduit-pipes  can  rise  no  higher 

Than  the  well-head  from  whence  it  firft  doth  spring  : 
Then,  fince  to  eternal  God  flie  doth  aspire. 

She  cannot  be  but  an  eternal  thing. 

‘‘  All  moving  things  to  other  things  do  move 

Of  the  same  kind,  which  fhows  their  nature  such  \  ” 
So  earth  falls  down,  and  fire  doth  mount  above. 

Till  both  their  proper  elements  do  touch. 

And  as  the  moifture  which  the  thirfty  earth 
Sucks  from  the  sea  to  fill  her  empty  veins. 

From  out  her  womb  at  lafl:  doth  take  a  birth. 

And  runs  a  lymph  along  the  gralTy  plains  : 


Miscellaneous, 


298 

Long  doth  fhe  ftay,  as  loth  to  leave  the  land 
P'rom  whose  soft  fide  the  firft  did  ilTue  make  ; 

She  taftes  all  places,  turns  to  every  hand, 

Her  flowery  banks  unwilling  to  forsake. 

Yet  Nature  so  her  ftreams  doth  lead  and  carry. 

As  that  her  course  doth  make  no  final  flay. 

Till  fhe  herself  unto  the  Ocean  marry. 

Within  whose  watery  bosom  firft  fhe  lay. 

E’en  so  the  soul,  which  in  this  earthly  mould 
The  spirit  of  God  doth  secretly  infuse. 

Because  at  firfl  fhe  doth  the  earth  behold. 

And  only  this  material  world  fhe  views. 

At  firfl  her  mother  Earth  fhe  holdeth  dear. 

And  doth  embrace  the  world,  and  worldly  things 

She  flies  close  by  the  ground  and  hovers  here, 

And  mounts  not  up  with  her  celeftial  wings  : 

Yet  under  heaven  fhe  cannot  light  on  aught 
That  with  her  heavenly  nature  doth  agree  ; 

She  cannot  reft,  fhe  cannot  fix  her  thought. 

She  cannot  in  this  world  contented  be. 

For  who  did  ever  yet,  in  honor,  wealth. 

Or  pleasure  of  the  sense,  contentment  find  ? 

Who  ever  ceased  to  wifh  when  he  had  wealth  ? 

Or  having  wisdom  was  not  vexed  in  mind  ? 


Miscellaneous. 


299 


Then  as  a  bee,  which  among  weeds  doth  fall, 

Which  seem  sweet  flowers  with  luflre  frefh  and  gay. 

She  lights  on  that  and  this,  and  tafleth  all ; 

But  pleased  with  none,  doth  rise  and  soar  away. 

So  when  the  soul  finds  here  no  true  content. 

And  like  Noah’s  dove  can  no  sure  footing  take. 

She  doth  return  from  whence  fhe  firfl:  was  sent. 

And  flies  to  Him  that  firfl:  her  wings  did  make. 

So  while  the  virgin  soul  on  earth  doth  fl:ay. 

She,  wooed  and  tempted  in  ten  thousand  ways. 

By  these  great  powers  which  on  the  earth  bear  sway. 
The  wisdom  of  the  world,  wealth,  pleasure,  praise  ; 

•  With  these  sometimes  fhe  doth  her  time  beguile, 

These  do  by  fibs  her  fantasy  polTefs  ; 

But  fhe  diftaftes  them  all  within  a  while. 

And  in  the  sweetefl:  finds  a  tediousnefs  ; 

But  if  upon  the  world’s  Almighty  King 

She  once  doth  fix  her  humble,  loving  thoughts; 

Who  by  his  pidfure  drawn  in  every  thing. 

And  sacred  meflTages,  her  love  hath  sought  ; 

Of  Him  fhe  thinks  fhe  cannot  think  too  much  ; 

This  honey  tafted  Hill,  is  ever  sweet ; 

The  pleasure  of  her  ravifhed  thought  is  such, 

As  almofl:  here  fhe  with  her  blifs  doth  meet. 


300  Miscellaneous. 

But  when  in  heaven  fhe  fliall  His  eflence  see, 

This  is  her  sovereign  good,  and  perfedl  blifs, 

Her  longings,  wiftiings,  hopes,  all  finifhed  be. 

Her  joys  are  full,  her  motions  reft  in  this. 

There  is  fhe  crowned  with  garlands  of  content ; 

There  doth  fhe  manna  eat,  and  nedlar  drink : 

That  presence  doth  such  high  delights  present. 

As  never  tongue  could  speak,  nor  heart  could  think. 

Sir  yohn  Davies.  Born  in  1570. 

-  ri  )  1 1 


YOUTH  AND  AGE. 

f  I  ^HE  seas  are  quiet  when  the  winds  are  o’er, 

JL  So  calm  are  we  when  paflions  are  no  more  ! 

For  then  we  know  how  vain  it  was  to  boaft 
Of  fleeting  things  so  certain  to  be  loft. 

Clouds  of  alFeftion  from  our  younger  eyes 
Conceal  that  emptinefs  which  age  descries  ; 

The  soul’s  dark  cottage,  battered  and  decayed. 

Lets  in  new  light  through  chinks  that  time  has  made. 

Stronger  by  weaknefs,  wiser  men  become 
As  they  draw  near  to  their  eternal  home  ; 


Miscellaneous, 


301 


Leaving  the  old,  both  worlds  at  once  they  view, 

That  ftand  upon  the  threfhold  of  the  new. 

Waller,  Died  in  1687. 


HUMILITY. 

O!  LEARN  that  it  is  only  by  the  lowly 
The  paths  of  peace  are  trod  ; 

If  thou  wouldft  keep  thy  garments  white  and  holy. 
Walk  humbly  with  thy  God. 

The  man  with  earthly  wisdorn  high  uplifted 
Is  in  God’s  fight  a  fool ; 

But  he  in  heavenly  truth  mofl:  deeply  gifted. 

Sits  lowefi:  in  Chrift’s  school. 

The  lowly  spirit  God  hath  consecrated 
As  his  abiding  reft ; 

An  angel  by  some  patriarch’s  tent  hath  waited. 
When  kings  had  no  such  gueft. 

The  dew  that  never  wets  the  flinty  mountain. 

Falls  in  the  valleys  free; 

Bright  verdure  fringes  the  small  desert  fountain. 

But  barren  sand  the  sea. 

Not  in  the  ftately  oak  the  fragrance  dwelleth. 
Which  charms  the  p-eneral  wood. 


302  Adhcellaneous^ 

But  in  the  violet  low,  whose  sweetnefs  telleth 
Its  unseen  neighborhood. 

The  censer  swung  by  the  proud  hand  of  merit, 

Fumes  with  a  fire  abhorred  ; 

But  faith’s  two  mites,  dropped  covertly,  inherit 
A  blelling  from  the  Lord.  \ 

Round  lowlinefs  a  gentle  radiance  hovers, 

A  sweet,  unconscious  grace. 

Which,  even  in  fhrinking,  evermore  discovers 
The  brightnefs  on  its  face. 

Where  God  abides,  contentment  is  an  honor. 

Such  guerdon  Meeknefs  knows  ; 

His  peace  within  her,  and  His  smile  upon  her. 

Her  saintly  way  ftie  goes. 

0 

Through  the  ftrait  gate  of  life  fhe  palTes,  ftooping. 
With  sandals  on  her  feet ; 

And  pure-eyed  Graces,  with  linked  palms,  come  trooping 
Their  filler  fair  to  greet. 

The  angels  bend  their  eyes  upon  her  goings. 

And  guard  her  from  annoy ; 

Heaven  fills  her  quiet  heart  with  overflowings 
Of  calm,  celellial  joy. 

The  Saviour  loves  her,  for  Ihe  wears  the  vefture 
With  which  he  walked  on  earth. 


Miscellaneous.  303 

And  though  her  childlike  glance,  and  ftep  and  gefture, 
He  knows  her  heavenly  birth. 

He  now  beholds  this  seal  of  glory  graven 
On  all  whom  he  redeems, 

And  in  his  own  bright  city,  cryftal-paven. 

On  every  brow  it  gleams. 

The  white-robed  saints,  the  throne-ftars  Tinging  under. 
Their  ftate  all  meekly  wear ; 

Their  pauselefs  praise  wells  up  from  hearts  which 
wonder 

That  ever  they  came  there. 

Chrijiian  Regijier. 

ANSWER  TO  “THERE’S  NOTHING  BRIGHT  BUT 

HEAVEN.” 

Ah  !  say  no  more,  there ’s  nought  but  heaven. 
That ’s  calm,  and  bright,  and  true  ; 

Say  not,  our  only  portion ’s  care. 

That  man  is  ever  doomed  to  wear 
The  cyprefs  wreath  of  woe  ; 

Are  there  not  pleasures  of  the  soul 
To  feeble  mortals  given. 

Feelings  so  pregnant  with  delight, — 

A  joy  so  warm,  so  calm,  so  bright. 

To  man  allied  to  heaven, 


Miscellaneous. 


304 


That  the  rapt  spirit  has  forgot 
Its  tenement  of  clay, 

Nor  fondly  wifh’d  its  woes  were  o’er, 

The  confli61:  pafs’d,  and  gained  the  fhore 
Of  never-ending  day  ? 

Oh,  say  no  more,  there ’s  nothing  true 
But  the  bright  scenes  of  heaven. 

Oh,  there  is  truth  in  Mercy’s  page, 

Dire61:ing  youth,  consoling  age. 

Declaring  fin  forgiven. 

Oh,  say  no  more,  there ’s  nought  but  heaven. 
That ’s  calm,  or  true,  or  bright  ; 

Bright  are  the  beams  the  Saviour  fheds, 

The  radiance  that  the  Gospel  spreads 
Amid  this  realm  of  night ; 

Though  loud  the  blaft,  though  dark  the  day. 

We  oft  have  peace  at  even  : 

If  earth  can  yield  such  pure  delight. 

Or  blifs  so  sacred  and  so  bright. 

How  calm,  how  true,  how  bright  is  heaven! 


Miscellaneous, 


T 


305 


A  THANKSGIVING  FOR  SETTLED  HEALTH. 

IN  times  of  want  we  feel  what  blifs 
Our  years  of  plenty  be  ; 

When  war  doth  rage,  the  sweets  of  peace 
The  meaneft  wit  can  see. 

And  when  with  ficknefs  we  are  pain’d, 

We  know  it  juft,  O  Lord! 

To  render  praise  and  thanks  unfeign’d. 

When  health  fhall  be  reftored. 

Sure,  then,  the  many  healthful  days 
And  years  which  I  have  had. 

Deserve  that  hearty  songs  of  praise 
Should  for  the  same  be  made  ; 

And  that  whilft  health  and  ftrength  do  laft, 

I  fhould  the  same  employ 
To  memorize  the  mercies  paft. 

And  those  which  I  enjoy. 

Whilft  others  groan  with  aching  bones. 

With  wounds  or  inward  pains. 

With  gouts,  or  those  tormenting  ftones 
Which  fret  and  rend  the  reins  ; 

Yea,  while  ten  thousands  feel  the  smart 
Which  on  the  Tick  doth  seize. 


20 


Miscellaneous. 


In  head,  in  body,  and  in  heart, 

I  am  at  perfedl  ease. 

Lord  !  ever  bleffed  be  thy  name. 

For  this  external  grace  ; 

Preserve  me  thankful  for  the  same, 

Whilft  thou  prolongft  my  race. 

And  if  to  my  immortal  bllfs 
It  (hall  not  hindrance  be. 

Nor  thou  thereby  due  glory  mifs. 

Thus  healthful  keep  thou  me. 

But  if  my  patience  muft  be  tried 
By  ficknefs  and  by  pain. 

Let  fin  therebv  be  mortified. 

And  virtue  ftrength  obtain. 

Be  pleased  likewise,  that  whatsoe’er 
Thy  wisdom  fhall  impose. 

It  be  no  more  than  I  can  bear. 

Though  ftrong  and  {harp  it  grows. 

George  Wither.  1588-1667. 


Miscellaneous. 


307 


BEFORE  ENTERING  ON  DOMESTIC  DUTIES, 

OTHOU  that  in  thy  lowly  sojourn  here, 

Wouldft  oft  retire  from  the  throng’d  thoroughfare 
Wouldft  ftay  awhile  Thy  healing  touch,  and  leave 
The  liftening  crowds  that  hung  upon  thy  lips, 

To  fliare  the  meal  domeftic,  and  to  join 
In  social  converse,  ’neath  the  quiet  roof 
Of  thy  loved  Lazarus  ;  O !  be  with  me 
Amidfl:  mv  household  duties,  as  thou  wert 

j  * 

With  his  two  fifters.  —  May  thy  gentle  voice 
Speak  to  my  heart  in  sweet  encouragement 
Or  mild  reproof,  and  let  me  feel  the  gaze 
Of  those  meek  eyes  fix’d  on  my  every  act, 

And  watching  all  I  do.  Grant  me  the  grace, 

Whilft  Martha’s  busy  offices  demand 
My  lelTer  care,  to  caft  my  better  thoughts 
Down  at  thy  feet,  to  fit  with  Mary  there. 

And  liften  to  thy  words  of  truth  and  love. 

Teach  me,  with  mind  unruffled  and  serene. 

To  meet  the  hourly  accidents  of  life  ; 

And  let  the  tones  of  gentle  patience  lend 
Their  soft  sweet  mufic  to  my  lightefl;  word. 

O  !  may  I  bear  in  mind,  that  from  the  roots 
Of  wither’d  and  negledled  duties  spring 
The  rankeft  fin-weeds  which  infeft  the  heart ; 


3o8 


Miscellaneous. 


That  wisdom  infinite  has  placed  me  here 
To  work  thy  will,  watch’d  o’er  by  angels’  eyes, 
Cherifli’d  and  cared  for,  not  alone  by  those 
Whom  thou  haft  given  to  tread  life’s  path  with  me. 
But  with  a  love  beyond  all  human  ken. 

By  thee  on  whom  my  hopes  of  heaven  depend. 

My  Lord,  my  God,  my  Saviour,  and  my  Friend. 

The  Wife's  Manual. 


SOCIAL  INTERCOURSE. 

OGOD  !  who  on  the  tablets  of  the  heart 

Gazeft  with  thine  all-searching  eye,  and  there 
Doft  read  the  record  of  each  secret  wifh. 

Guard  with  thy  grace  the  inlets  to  my  soul. 

And  chase  away  the  traitor-thoughts  within. 

That  with  temptation  parleying  ftand,  and  fain 
Would  let  in  fin  and  folly.  Make  me  feel 
That  in  the  gay  and  care-forgetting  crowd 
Thou  art  as  near  me  as  in  solitude  ; 

Keep  thou  the  portals  of  my  lips,  left  words 
Of  levity,  or  censure  undeserved. 

Abuse  the  freedom  of  my  mirthful  hours. 

Tinge  my  each  word  and  adfion  with  a  hue 
Of  heart-born  courtesy  and  holy  love. 

That  in  the  use  of  every  social  gift 
The  happinefs  of  others  may  be  mine  ; 


(C 


Miscellaneous.  _  309 

And  every  effort  which  I  make  to  please 
May  be  unmarr’d  by  envy  or  by  pride. 

And  as  the  glow-worm,  that,  itself  unseen. 

Glads  with  the  lustre  of  its  tiny  lamp 
Its  little  neighborhood  of  blade  and  flower. 

So  grant,  O  Lord,  my  love  of  thee  may  fhine. 

Not  in  the  loud  profeflion  of  my  faith. 

But  in  the  peace-light  fhed  around  my  path. 

Still  growing  brightefl  in  the  darkeft  hour. 

Rev.  IV.  Calvert, 


♦ 


THE  WIDOW. 

Thy  will  be  done  !  ’’  God  of  the  desolate. 

Teach  me,  with  heart  refign’d,  and  calm,  to  say, 
“  Thy  will  be  done  !  ”  I  know  it  was  thy  hand 
That  gave  ;  Oh  !  may  I  see  thy  hand  alone 
Reclaiming  that  it  graciously  beftowed. 

Quiet  my  murmuring  thoughts,  fliill  my  regrets. 

How  little  I  deserv’d  my  happy  lot 
Should  laft  so  long  !  But  life  is  now  a  void. 

Void  did  I  say  .?  forgive  me,  Lord  ;  for  life 
Is  full  of  duties  ftill,  nor  without  joys. 

Have  I  not  round  about  me  those  to  love. 

And  lead  in  holy  paths  ?  Are  there  no  tears 
On  other  cheeks  that*  I  may  wipe  away 
I  bear  his  name,  and  I  may  hear  it  blefTed 


310 


Miscellaneous, 


By  grateful  lips.  The  memory  of  his  kind 
Approving  smile,  will  it  not  glad  each  hour 
Of  cheerful  ftruggle  againft  grief  and  fin  ? 

Guard  me,  and  help  me  on  my  journey  home, 

God  of  the  widow,  and  the  fatherlefs  ! 

May  I  forget  my  own,  my  bitter  woes. 

In  pouring  comfort  into  others’  breafts. 

Far  from  these  lips  be  censure  or  complaint; 

And  let  me  ftrive  by  every  lawful  means 
To  hide  the  faults  of  others,  and  my  grief. 

So  by  my  gladsome  looks  and  happy  tones. 

By  sympathy  in  all  the  gentle  joys 
Of  young  and  merry  hearts,  may  it  appear 
How  bright  and  sunny  is  the  lot  of  those 
Who  have  Thy  love,  a  solace  in  their  woes. 

Who,  clinging  to  Thy  crofs,  their  souls  to  save. 
Can  look  without  one  fhudder  towards  the  grave. 

Kev,  W,  Calvert, 


A  WORKING-HYMN. 

SON  of  the  Carpenter,  receive 
This  humble  work  of  mine  ; 
Worth  to  my  meaneft  labor  give 
By  joining  it  to  thine. 

Servant  of  all,  to  toil  for  man 
Thou  wouldft  not.  Lord,  refuse  : 


Miscellaneous. 


311 

Thy  majefty  did  not  disdain 
To  be  employ’d  for  us. 

Thy  bright  example  I  pursue. 

To  thee  in  all  things  rise, 

And  all  I  think,  or  speak,  or  do. 

Is  one  great  sacrifice. 

Carelefs  thro’  outward  cares  I  go. 

From  all  diftradlion  free  : 

My  hands  are  but  engag’d  below. 

My  heart  is  ftill  with  thee. 

O  when  wilt  thou,  my  life,  appear ! 

Then  gladly  will  I  cry, 

’T  is  done,  the  work  thou  gav’ft  me  here, 

’T  is  finifh’d.  Lord  —  and  die! 

Wejley. 


GRACE  AFTER  MEAT. 

Blest  be  the  God,  whose  tender  care 
Prevents  his  children’s  cry. 

Whose  pity  providently  near 
Doth  all  our  wants  supply. 

Bleft  be  the  God,  whose  bounteous  ftore. 
These  cheering  gifts  imparts. 


312  Miscellaneous, 

Who  veils  in  bread  the  secret  power 
That  feeds  and  glads  our  hearts. 

Fountain  of  bleflings,  source  of  good, 

To  thee  this  ftrength  we  owe. 

Thou  art  the  virtue  of  our  food. 

Life  of  our  life  below. 

When  fliall  our  souls  regain  the  fkies. 

Thy  heavenly  sweetnefs  prove  : 

Where  joys  in  all  their  fullnefs  rise. 

And  all  our  food  is  love. 

JVeJley, 

AT  TABLE. 

Fountain  of  all  the  good  we  see 
Streaming  from  heaven  above. 

Saviour,  our  faith  we  adf  on  thee. 

And  exercise  our  love. 

’T  is  not  the  outward  food  we  eat 
Doth  this  new  ftrength  afford, 

’T  is  thou,  whose  presence  makes  it  meat. 

Thou  the  life-giving  word. 

Man  doth  not  live  by  bread  alone  ; 

Whatever  thou  wilt  can  feed  ; 


Miscellaneous,  313 

Thy  power  converts  the  bread  to  ftone. 

And  turns  the  ftone  to  bread. 

Thou  art  our  food  ;  we  tafte  thee  now. 

In  thee  we  move  and  breathe, 

Our  bodies’  only  life  art  thou. 

And  all  befides  is  death. 

JVeJley. 


WORSHIP. 

I  WENT  into  the  house  of  prayer, 
’T  was  many  a  mile  away  ; 

I  knew  no  individual  there  — 

I  went  to  hear  them  pray  ; 

And  by  their  supplications  found 
The  place  indeed  was  holy  ground. 

I  did  not  afk  their  creed  or  name, 

’T  was  scarcely  worth  a  care  ; 

It  was  enough,  a  holy  flame 
Impelled  their  souls  to  prayer  ; 

And  in  my  own,  methought  I  found 
A  brother’s  love  go  circling  round. 

As  pilgrims  they  themselves  confeft. 
And  ftrangers  here  below 


314  Miscellaneous, 

/ 

To  perfe6l  joy,  and  solid  reft, 

Or —  misanthropic  woe  ! 

And  made  a  humble,  happy  claim 
To  heaven  itself,  in  Jesus’  name. 

They  were  indeed  a  happy  band,  — 

And  they  appeared  to  me 
The  salt  that  purifies  the  land 
Amidft  depravity  ; 

For  to  the  potency  of  prayer. 

We  owe  the  bleftings  that  we  fhare. 

Then  let  us  raise  hosannas  high 
To  God  the  Father’s  name. 

Who  bids  our  supplications  fly 
On  love’s  triumphant  flame  ; 

And  from  his  throne  above  the  fkies. 

Sends  down  to  earth  such  rich  supplies. 

E,  Dermer 

SON-DAYES. 

Bright  fhadows  of  true  reft !  some  ftioots  of 
bli  ITe  ; 

Heaven  once  a  week  ; 

The  next  world’s  gladnelFe  prepoflfeft  in  this ; 

A  day  to  seek : 


Miscellaneous.  3^5 

Eternity  in  time ;  the  fteps  by  which 
We  climb  above  all  ages  3  lamps  that  light 
Man  through  his  heap  of  dark  days  ;  and  the  rich 
And  full  redemption  of  the  whole  week’s  flight  ! 

The  pulleys  unto  headlong  man  ;  time’s  bower  3 
The  narrow  way  3 

Transplanted  paradise  3  God’s  walking  houre  3 
The  cool  o’  th’  day ! 

The  creature’s  jubile  3  God’s  parle  with  dufl:  3 
Heaven  here  3  man  on  those  hills  of  myrrh  and  flowres  3 
Angels  descending  3  the  returns  of  trufl;  3 
A  gleam  of  glory  after  six-days-showres! 

The  Churche’s  love-feafls  3  time’s  prerogative, 

And  interefl: 

Dedudfed  from  the  whole  3  the  combs  and  hive, 

And  home  of  reft. 

The  milky-way  chalkt  out  with  suns  3  a  clue. 

That  guides  through  erring  hours  3  and  in  full  fliory 
A  taffe  of  heav’n  on  earth  3  the  pledge  and  cue 
Of  a  full  feafl:  3  and  the  out-courts  of  glory. 

Henry  Vaughan.  1621—1695. 


3i6 


Miscellaneous, 


H.  SCRIPTURES. 

ELCOMEj  dear  book,  soul’s  joy  and  food  I  the 


feaft 


Of  spirits  ;  heav’n  extradfed  lyes  in  thee. 
Thou  art  life’s  charter,  the  dove’s  spotlefs  neft 
Where  souls  are  hatch’d  unto  eternitie. 

In  thee  the  hidden  ftone,  the  manna  lies  ; 

Thou  art  the  great  elixir  rare  and  choice ; 
The  key  that  opens  to  all  myfteries. 

The  word  in  charadler,  God  in  the  voice. 


Thou  art  the  oyl  and  the  wine-house  ; 

Thine  are  the  present  healing  leaves. 

Blown  from  the  tree  of  life  to  us 

By  His  breath  whom  my  dead  heart  heaves. 
Each  page  of  thine  hath  true  life  in ’t. 
And  God’s  bright  minde  expreft  in  print. 

Thou  art  the  faithful,  pearly  rock  ; 

The  hive  of  beamy,  living  lights  ; 

Ever  the  same,  whose  diffus’d  Rock 
Entire  ftill  wears  out  blackeft  nights. 

Thy  lines  are  rays  the  true  Sun  fhed  ; 
Thy  leaves  are  healing  wings  He  spreads. 


Vaughan, 


Miscellaneous.  317 


SABBATH  EVENING. 

IS  there  a  time  when  moments  flow 
More  lovelily  than  all  befide  ? 

It  is,  of  all  the  times  below, 

A  Sabbath  eve  in  summer  tide. 

O  then  the  setting  sun  smiles  fair. 

And  all  below,  and  all  above. 

The  different  forms  of  Nature  wear; 

One  universal  garb  of  love. 

And  then  the  peace  that  Jesus  beams, 
The  life  of  grace,  the  death  of  fin. 

With  Nature’s  placid  woods  and  ftreams. 
Is  peace  without,  and  peace  within. 

Delightful  scene  !  a  world  at  reft, 

A  God  all  love,  no  grief  nor  fear ; 

A  heavenly  hope,  a  peaceful  breaft, 

A  smile  unsullied  by  a  tear ! 

If  heaven  be  ever  felt  below, 

A  scene  so  heavenly  sure  as  this. 

May  cause  a  heart  on  earth  to  know 
Some  foretafte  of  celeftial  blifs. 


318  Miscellaneous, 

Delightful  hour!  how  soon  will  Night 
Spread  her  dark  mantle  o’er  thy  reign  ; 

And  morrow’s  quick  returning  light 
Muft  call  us  to  the  world  again. 

Yet  there  will  dawn  at  laft  the  day, 

A  Sun  that  never  sets  fhall  rise  ; 

Night  will  not  vail  his  ceaselefs  ray, 

The  heavenly  Sabbath  never  dies. 

Edmejion. 

They  affedl 

Truth  in  her  naked  beauty,  and  behold 
Man  with  an  equall  eye,  not  bright  in  gold 
Or  tall  in  title  ;  so  much  him  they  weigh 
As  vertue  raiseth  him  above  his  clay. 

Thus  let  us  value  things  :  and  fince  we  find 
Time  bends  us  toward  death,  let ’s  in  our  mind 
Create  new  youth  ;  and  arme  againft  the  rude 
AlTaults  of  age  ;  that  no  dull  solitude 
O’  th’  country  dead  our  thoughts,  nor  bufie  care 
O’  th’  towne  make  us  not  thinke,  where  now  we  are 
And  whither  we  are  bound.  Time  ne’er  forgot 
His  journey,  though  his  fteps  we  numbered  not ! 

Habington. 


Miscellaneous. 


319 


cc 


F' 

r 


OR  I  have  seen  the  pine, 

Famed  for  its  travels  ore  the  sea, 
Broken  with  ftormes  and  age  decline. 
And  in  some  creek  unpittied  rot  away. 


I  have  seene  cedars  fall. 

And  in  their  roome  a  mufhrome  grow  : 

I  have  seene  comets,  threatning  all, 

Vanifh  themselves  ;  I  have  seene  princes  so.” 


‘‘OHOULD  I  my  selfe  ingratiate 
T’  a  prince’s  smile, 

How  soone  may  death  my  hopes  beguile  ! 
And  fhould  I  farme  the  proudeft  ftate, 
Pme  tennant  to  uncertaine  fate.” 


cc 


OTHOU  iEternall  banquet!  where 
Forever  we 

May  feede  without  satietie  ! 

Who  harmonie  art  to  the  eare  ! 

Who  art,  while  all  things  else  appeare !  ” 

Hahington.  1605—1654. 


320 


Miscellaneous, 


FROM  THE  “CHERUBIC  PILGRIM.” 

The  Eyes  of  the  Soul, 

TW O  eyes  hath  every  soul ;  one  into  Time  fhall 
see, 

The  other  bends  its  gaze  into  Eternity. 


Humble  and  Free, 

From  lowly  daifies  learn,  O  men  !  how  ye  may  be 
Both  good  and  beautiful,  humble  in  heart  and  free. 


Learn  from  the  Silkworm, 

O  fhame  !  A  silkworm  works  and  spins  till  it  can  fly. 
And  thou,  my  soul,  wilt  ftill  on  thine  old  earth-clod  lie. 


God  is  a  Blejfed  Stillnefs, 

We  pray,  “  On  earth,  in  Heaven,  O  Lord,  be  done 
thy  will,” 

And  yet  God  has  no  will,  but  is  forever  flill. 

fohannes  Angelas  Silefius, 


Miscellaneous* 


321 


FROM  ALGER’S  ORIENTAL  POETRY. 


Tradition  and  Life. 

Be  no  imitator  j  frefhly  a6i:  thy  part  ; 

Through  this  world  be  thou  an  independent  ranger : 
Better  is  the  faith  that  springeth  from  thy  heart, 

Than  a  better  faith  belonging  to  a  ftranger. 


The  Haunt  of  JVisdom. 

Seek  truth  from  thought,  and  not  from  mouldy  books, 
O  fool ! 

Look  in  the  Iky  to  find  the  moon,  not  in  the  pool. 


Truth  out  of  Convulfion :  from  Dewletschah. 

Whene’er  the  sea  upheaves  its  foaming  hofts. 
Pearl  after  pearl  it  tofles  on  the  coafts. 


Not  Fate^  but  Skill. 

Diving  and  finding  no  pearls  in  the  sea. 
Blame  not  the  ocean,  the  fault  is  in  thee ! 

Educate  Thyself. 

O  square  thyself  for  use  ;  a  ftone  that  may 
Fit  in  the  wall,  is  not  left  in  the  way. 


322 


Miscellaneous. 


Fount  and  River. 

The  bad  fount,  which  a  pitcher  can  hide  from  your 
view, 

Feeds  a  ftream  which  an  elephant  scarce  can  wade 
through. 

The  Triple  Murder. 

These  three  men  all  at  once  to  death  the  flander-poison 
burns : 

The  one  who  speaks,  the  one  who  hears,  the  one  whom 
it  concerns. 

The  Ideal  Philosophy.  From  Mahmoud. 

Nothing  is  the  mirror,  and  the  world  the  image  in  it : 

God  the  fhower  is,  who  fhows  the  vifion  every  minute. 

The  Bitter  Cup  Sweet. 

My  God  once  mixed  a  harfh  cup,  for  me  to  drink  it. 

And  it  was  full  of  acrid  bitternefs  intenseft  ; 

The  black  and  nauseating  draught  did  make  me  fhrink 
from  it. 

And  cry,  O  Thou  who  every  draught  alike  dispense!!:. 

This  cup  of  anguifh  sore,  bid  me  not  to  quaff  of  it. 

Or  pour  away  the  dregs  and  the  deadlieft  half  of  it!’* 

But  ftill  the  cup  he  held  ;  and  seeing  He  ordained  it. 

One  glance  at  Him,  —  it  turned  to  sweetnefs  as  I 
drained  it. 


Miscellaneous. 


The  Ninth  Paradise. 

In  the  nine  heavens  are  eight  Paradises  ; 

Where  is  the  ninth  one  ?  In  the  human  breaft. 

Only  the  blefled  dwell  in  th^  Paradises, 

But  bleflednefs  dwells  in  the  human  breaft. 

Created  creatures  are  in  th’  Paradises, 

The  uncreated  Maker  in  the  breaft. 

Rather,  O  man,  want  those  eight  Paradises, 

Than  be  without  the  ninth  one  in  thy  breaft. 

Given  to  thee  are  those  eight  Paradises 

When  thou  the  ninth  one  haft  within  thy  breaft. 

The  Unwalled  House  of  God. 

The  holy  Nanac  on  the  ground,  one  day. 

Reclining,  with  his  feet  towards  Mecca,  lay. 

A  pafling  Moflem  prieft,  offended  saw. 

And  flaming  for  the  honor  of  his  law. 

Exclaimed,  “  Base  infidel,  thy  prayers  repeat ! 

Towards  Allah’s  house  how  dar’ft  thou  turn  thy  feet?’’ 
Before  the  Moflem’s  fhallow  accents  died. 

The  pious  but  indignant  Nanac  cried, 

“  And  turn  them,  if  thou  canft,  towards  any  spot 
Wherein  the  awful  House  of  God  is  not  !  ” 


324 


Miscellaneous. 


A  HYMN  WHILST  WE  ARE  WASHING. 

AS  we  by  water  wafli  away 

Uncleannefs  from  our  flefh. 

And  sometimes  often  in  a  day, 

Ourselves  are  fain  to  wafli  : 

So  ev’ry  day,  thoughts,  words,  or  deeds, 
The  soul  do  sully  so. 

That  often  every  day  fhe  needs 
Unto  her  cleanser  go. 

Our  fins  purgation  doth  require. 

Sometime  a  flood  of  tears; 

Sometime  the  painful  purging  fire 
Of  torments,  griefs,  or  fears: 

And  all  this  cleanfing  will  be  loft. 

When  we  our  heft  fhall  do, 

Unlefs  we  by  the  Holy  Ghoft, 

May  be  baptized  too. 


George  Wither. 


A 


Mhcelianeous. 


325 


FOR  ONE  THAT  HEARS  HIMSELF  MUCH  PRAISED. 

My  fins  and  follies,  Lord  I  by  thee 
From  others  hidden  are, 

That  such  good  words  are  spoke  of  me. 

As  now  and  then  I  hear ; 

For  sure  if  others  knew  me  such. 

Such  as  myself  I  know, 

I  fhould  have  been  dispraised  as  much 
As  I  am  praised  now. 

The  praise,  therefore,  which  I  have  heard. 

Delights  not  so  my  mind, 

As  those  things  make  my  heart  afeard, 

I-'  Which  in  myself  I  find  : 

And  I  had  rather  to  be  blamed. 

So  I  were  blamelefs  made. 

Than  for  much  virtue  to  be  famed. 

When  I  no  virtues  had. 

Though  danders  to  an  innocent. 

Sometimes  do  bitter  grow. 

Their  bitternefs  procures  content. 

If  clear  himself  he  know. 

And  when  a  virtuous  man  hath  err’d. 

If  praised  himself  he  hear. 


Miscellaneous. 


It  makes  him  grieve,  and  more  afeard, 
Than  if  he  flander’d  were. 

Lord  !  therefore  make  my  heart  upright, 
Whate’er  my  deeds  do  seem  ; 

And  righteous  rather  in  Thy  fight. 
Than  in  the  world’s  efteem. 

And  if  aught  good  appear  to  be 
In  any  a61:  of  mine. 

Let  thankfulnefs  be  found  in  me. 

And  all  the  praise  be  Thine. 


George  Wither. 


VIRTUE. 


HRICE  happy  he  whose  name  is  writ  above. 


I  And  doeth  good  through  gaining  infamy  ; 

Requiteth  evil  turns  with  hearty  love. 

And  recks  not  what  befalls  him  outwardly  ; 

Whose  worth  is  in  himselfe,  and  only  blilTe 
In  his  pure  conscience  that  doth  nought  amilTe. 

Who  placeth  pleasure  in  his  purged  soul, 

And  virtuous  life  his  treasure  doth  efteem  ; 

Who  can  his  paffions  mafter  and  controll. 

And  that  true  lordly  manlinelTe  doth  deeme  ; 

Who  from  this  world  himself  hath  clearly  quit. 
Counts  nought  his  own  but  what  lives  in  his  spright. 


Miscellaneous. 


327 

So  when  his  spright  from  this  vain  world  ftiall  flit. 

It  bears  all  with  it  whatsoever  was  dear 
Unto  itself,  pafling  in  easy  fit. 

As  kindly  ripen’d  corn  comes  out  of  th’  ear. 

Thus  mindlelTe  of  what  idle  men  will  say 
He  takes  his  own  and  ftilly  goes  his  way.” 

- True  virtue  to  herself ’s  the  heft  reward. 

Rich  with  her  own,  and  full  of  lively  spirit. 

Nothing  caft  down  for  want  of  due  regard. 

Or  ’cause  rude  men  acknowledge  not  her  merit  ; 

She  knows  her  worth,  and  flock  from  whence  she 
sprung. 

Spreads  fair  without  the  warmth  of  earthly  dung. 

Dewed  with  the  drops  of  heaven  fhall  flourifh  long ; 

As  long  as  day  and  night  do  fhare  the  fkie. 

And  though  that  day  and  night  fhould  faile,  yet  flrong 
And  fleddie,  fixed  on  eternitie. 

Shall  bloom  forever.  So  the  soul  ftiall  speed, 

That  loveth  virtue  for  no  worldly  meed. 

Though  sooth  to  say,  the  worldly  meed  is  due 
To  her  more  than  to  all  the  world  befide  ; 

Men  ought  do  homage  with  afFe61:ions  true. 

And  offer  gifts,  for  God  doth  there  refide  ; 

The  wise  and  virtuous  soul  is  his  own  seat. 

To  such  what’s  given  God  himself  doth  get. 

Dr.  Henry  More.  1614—1687. 


328 


Miscellaneous. 


THE  UNITY  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

HE  Church  of  Chrift  that  he  hath  hallow’d  here 


JL  To  be  his  house,  is  scattered  far  and  near, 

In  North  and  South  and  Eaft  and  Weft  abroad. 

And  yet  in  earth  and  heaven,  through  Chrift  her  Lord, 

The  Church  is  one. 

One  member  knoweth  not  another  here. 

And  yet  their  fellowftiip  is  true  and  near, 

One  is  their  Saviour,  and  their  Father  one. 

One  Spirit  rules  them,  and  among  them  none 


Lives  to  himself. 


They  live  to  Him  who  bought  them  with  his  blood. 
Baptized  them  with  his  Spirit  pure  and  good. 

And  in  true  faith  and  ever-burning  love 
Their  hearts  and  hope  ascend  to  seek  above 

The  eternal  Good. 

O  Spirit  of  the  Lord,  all  life  is  thine. 

Now  fill  thy  Church  with  life  and  power  divine. 
That  many  children  may  be  born  to  thee. 

And  spread  thy  knowledge  like  the  boundlefs  sea. 


To  Chrift’s  great  praise. 
A.  G.  Spangenberg.  1747* 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES. 

.»taei~ 


PAGE 

Abide  with  me.  Fast  falls  the  eventide . 163 

Again,  how  can  she  but  immortal  be . 297 

A  garden  so  well  watered  before  morn . 154 

A  gentle  angel  walketh  throughout  a  world  of  woe . 135 

Ah  !  say  no  more  there ’s  nought  but  heaven  . 303 

Alas  these  visits  rare  and  rude . . . 74 

A  little  longer  yet,  a  little  longer . 237 

A  little  while,  and  every  fear . 141 

Allah,  Allah  !  cried  the  sick  man .  4 

All  praise  and  thanks  to  God  most  High . 218 

Alone  with  God  !  day’s  craven  cares . 157 

A  man  there  came,  whence  none  could  tell . 72 

And  is  there  care  in  Heaven  ?  and  is  there  love . 33 

Angels  shall  free  the  feet  from  stain . 138 

Another  day  is  numbered  with  the  past . 176 

Another  hand  is  beckoning  us . 262 

Arise  !  ye  lingering  saints,  arise  ! . 42 

As  ere  I  down  am  couched  there . 23 

A  strong  and  mailed  angel  . 147 

As  virtuous  men  pass  mildly  away . 249 

As  we  by  water  wash  away . 324 

Awake,  my  soul  !  awake,  mine  eyes  ! . 172 


33^)  Inde  c . 


PAGE 

Be  no  imitator;  freshly  act  thy  part . 321 

Beyond  the  smiling  and  the  weeping . 235 

Blest  be  the  God,  whose  tender  care . 31 1 

Breathe  thoughts  of  pity  o’er  a  brother’s  fall  . 32 

Brief  life  is  here  our  portion . 279 

Bright  shadows  of  true  rest ! . 314 

But  what  or  who  are  we,  alas  . 21 

Calm  on  the  listening  ear  of  night  ...  . 179 

Can  angel  spirits  need  repose  . 285 

Children  of  God,  who  pacing  slow . 123 

Come,  blessed  of  my  heavenly  Father,  come! . 54 

Come  forth  !  come  on,  with  solemn  song  !  . 252 

Come,  oh  !  come,  with  sacred  lays . 213 

Come  to  the  morning  prayer . 155 

Companion  none  is  like . 20 

Courage,  my  sorely-tempted  heart !  120 

Day  by  day  the  manna  fell . 79 

Dear  Jesus,  give  me  patience  here . 133 

Dear,  secret  greenness  !  nurst  below .  12 

Deathless  principle,  arise  ! . 258 

Discourage  not  thyself,  my  soul . . 86 

Enthroned  upon  a  hill  of  light . 260 

For  I  have  seen  the  pine . 319 

Fountain  of  all  the  good  we  see . 312 

Give  me  my  scallop-shell  of  quiet . 21 

Gloomy  night  embraced  the  place . 180 

Good  night  I  a  word  so  often  said  ...  . 266 

Grace  does  not  steel  the  faithful  heart . 107 

Grand  rough  old  Martin  Luther . *  .  .  .  56 


Index,  331 


PAGE 

Happy  me  !  O  happy  sheep . 215 

Hark  !  hark  !  the  voice  of  ceaseless  praise . 282 

He  bids  us  come  ;  His  voice  we  know . loi 

Here  may  the  band  that  now  in  triumph  shines  . 287 

He  that  from  dross  would  win  the  precious  ore . 194 

High  hopes  that  burne'd  like  stars  sublime . 142 

His  courtiers  of  the  caliph  crave  . 39 

How  good  a  God  have  we  ! . 177 

How  happy  is  it  and  how  sweet . 28 

I  dwell  in  grace’s  courts . 83 

I  fashioned  in  my  soul  a  fantasy . /.  .  .  267 

If  God  is  mine,  then  present  things  . 223 

If  joy  be  made  when  men  are  born  . 257 

If  virtue  be  thy  guide . 8 

,I  journey  through  a  desert  drear  and  wild . 202 

I  love  (and  have  some  cause  to  love)  the  earth  ......  209 

I  mourn  no  more  my  vanished  years . 144 

In  all  extremes.  Lord,  thou  art  still . ..210 

In  the  silent  midnight  watches . 187 

In  times  of  want  we  feel  what  bliss . 305 

*  In  trouble  and  in  grief,  O  God . 115 

In  vain  do  men . 22 

I  say  to  thee,  do  thou  repeat . 104 

Is  there  a  time  when  moments  flow . 317 

Is  this  a  fast,  to  keep . .  54 

It  is  not  they  who  idly  dwell . 46 

I  went  into  the  house  of  prayer . 313 

“  Jesus’  hour  is  not  yet  come  ” . 140 

Jesus  immutably  the  same . 190 

Jesus,  my  Saviour,  look  on  me . 197 

Jesus!  the  ladder  of  my  faith . 191 

Joy  of  my  life,  while  left  me  here . 64 


Index, 


332 


PAGE 

Late  to  our  town  there  came  a  maid . ...68 

Let  them  that  would  build  castles  in  the  air . 151 

Life’s  mystery  —  deep,  restless  as  the  Ocean . 207 

Lift  not  thou  the  wailing  voice . 254 

Light  of  light  enlighten  me  . 233 

Long  did  I  toil,  and  knew  no  earthly  rest . 201 

Long  plunged  in  sorrow,  I  resign . 119 

Lord,  I  have  lain . 48 

Lord,  it  belongs  not  to  my  care . 109 

Lord,  shall  we  grumble  when  thy  flames  do  scourge  us  ?  .  .  1 14 

Love  divine  Its  word  hath  spoken . .  26 

Mortal !  on  our  azure  pathway . 61 

My  Father  is  the  mighty  Lord . 231 

My  God  !  I  know  that  I  must  die . 243 

My  God  with  me  in  every  place  ! . 227 

My  hope  is  built  on  nothing  less . 195 

My  Jesus,  as  thou  wilt  . 116 

My  little  maiden  of  four  years  old . 34 

My  sins  and  follies  Lord  !  by  thee . 325 

My  soul,  there  is  a  countrie . 2 

My  soul,  why  dost  thou  in  my  breast . 192  ' 

My  stock  lies  dead  ;  and  no  increase . ..165 

No  outward  mark  we  have  to  know . 38 

Not  as  all  other  women  are . 65 

Nothing  but  leaves  ;  the  Spirit  grieves . 49 

Nothing  resting  in  its  own  completeness . 127 

Now  darkness  over  all  is  spread . 121 

Now  let  our  souls  on  wings  sublime . 242 

Now  that  the  sun  is  gleaming  bright . 169 


O  Father-eye  that  hath  so  truly  watch’d 
Of  life’s  past  woes  the  fading  trace 
O  for  a  heart  to  praise  my  God  .  . 


.  232 

.  .  70 

•  159 


Index.  333 


PAGE 

Oft  have  I  wished  a  traveller  to  be .  17 

O  God  !  who  on  the  tablets  of  the  heart . 308 

O  hearts  that  never  cease  to  yearn  . . 264 

Oh  !  that  mine  eye  might  closed  be . 160 

O  joyes!  infinite  sweetness  !  with  what  flowres . 153 

O  !  learn  that  it  is  only  by  the  lowly . 301 

O  love  divine,  how  sweet  thou  art ! . 3 

O  love  divine,  that  stooped  to  share . 171 

O  make  our  house  Thy  sanctuary . 161 

One  sweetly  welcome  thought . 290 

One  time  I  was  allowed  to  steer . 150 

O  not  to  fill  the  mouth  of  fame  . .  45 

O  peace  of  God,  sweet  peace  of  God  ! . iii 

O  say  not  we  through  life  must  struggle . 51 

O  silence  deep  and  strange  ! . 170 

O!  that  in  unfettered  union . 269 

O  think  that,  while  you  ’re  weeping  here . 256 

O  Thou  by  long  experience  tried . 226 

O  thou  aeternall  banquet !  where . 319 

O  Thou,  on  earth  beloved,  adored . 280 

O  Thou  that  in  thy  lowly  sojourn  here . 307 

Our  Father . 166 

Our  Lord  and  brother  who  put  on . 182 

Our  Saviour  (pattern  of  true  holiness) . 155 

Over  the  river  they  beckon  to  me . 277 

O  way  for  all  that  live  ! . 206 

O  !  years  gone  down  into  the  past . 80 

Pain’s  furnace-heat  within  me  quivers  . . 136 

Peace  has  unveiled  her  smiling  face . no 

Peace,  muttering  thoughts  !  75 

Peace,  peace  ;  it  is  not  so . 124 

Poor  soul,  the  centre  of  my  sinful  earth . 15 

Prayer — the  church’s  banquet ;  angel’s  age.  .  . . 152 


334 


Index . 


PAGE 

Quietly  rest  the  woods  and  dales . 174 

Say,  Reader!  canst  thou  bear  and  not  complain . 89 

See  the  Day-Spring  from  afar  . 204 

She  stood  outside  the  gate  of  heaven . 35 

Should  I  my  selfe  ingratiate . 319 

Sleep,  drowsy  sleep !  come  close  mine  eyes . 173 

Some  think  there  is  no  earthly  state . 76 

Sometime,  O  Lord  !  at  least  in  show .  16 

Son  of  the  Carpenter,  receive  . 310 

Soul’s  joy,  now  I  am  gone . 248 

Spirit  divine  1  attend  our  prayer . 162 

Stand  but  your  ground,  your  ghostly  foes  will  fly . 203 

Still  hope  !  still  act !  Be  sure  that  life . 60 

Sweet  babe,  she  glanced  into  our  world  to  see . 255 

Sweet- voiced  Hope,  thy  fine  discourse . 90 

Sweet  voices  !  seldom  mortal  ear . 128 

That  so  thy  blessed  birth,  O  Christ . 57 

That  which  makes  us  have  no  need .  6 

The  Church  of  Christ  that  he  hath  hallow’d  here . 328 

The  golden  palace  of  my  God . 274 

The  lopped  tree  in  time  may  grow  again . 149 

The  modest  front  of  this  small  floor . ,  .  .  .  71 

The  night  was  made  for  cooling  shade . 93 

The  pilgrim  and  stranger,  who,  through  the  day . 53 

There  are  who  fear  thy  summons.  Death  !  . 241 

There  is  an  eye  that  never  sleeps . 156 

There  is  a  plant  that  in  its  cell  . 30 

There  is  a  pure  and  peaceful  wave .  13 

The  seas  are  quiet  when  the  winds  are  o’er . 300 

The  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  war . 183 

They  affect  Truth  in  her  naked  beauty . 318 

They  gave  to  Thee  .  .  .  .  • .  i 

This  is  the  Sabbath  day! . 168 


Index.  335 


PAGE 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign . 58 

Thou  art  my  all  —  to  Thee  I  flee . 220 

Thou,  Lord,  who  rear’st  the  mountains  height . 229 

Thrice  happy  he  whose  name  is  writ  above . 326 

“Thy  will  be  done,”  God  of  the  desolate . 309 

Till  love  appear,  we  live  in  anxious  doubt . 25 

’T  is  but  one  family,  — the  sound  is  balm . 251 

’T  is  not  the  skill  of  human  art . 37 

Tremble  not,  though  darkly  gather  ...  . 114 

’T  was  when  the  sea’s  tremendous  roar . 105 

Two  eyes  hath  every  soul  —  one  into  Time  shall  see  .  .  .  .  320 

Two  worlds  there  are.  To  one  our  eyes  we  strain . 291 

Unchangeable,  Almighty  Lord . 134 

Unto  the  glor)’  of  thy  Holy  Name . 177 

Up,  Christian,  up  !  — and  sleep’st  thou  still  ? . 44 

Up  to  those  bright  and  gladsome  hills . 212 

Veil,  Lord,  mine  eyes  till  she  be  past . 10 

Wait !  for  the  day  is  breaking . 139 

W alk  in  the  light !  —  So  shalt  thou  know .  9 

Watcher,  who  wakest  by  the  bed  of  pain . 196 

We  ask  for  peace,  O  Lord  !  . 95 

Welcome,  dear  book,  soul’s  joy  and  food . 316 

What  are  we  set  on  earth  for  ?  Say,  to  toil . 113 

What  cheering  words  are  these . 99 

Whate’er  my  God  ordains  is  right . 102 

What  mean  ye  by  this  wailing  . 246 

What  pleases  God,  O  pious  soul . 96 

What  shall  I  do  lest  life  in  silence  pass  ? . 1 1 

What  though  the  comforts  of  the  light . 222 

When  all  the  year  our  fields  are  fresh  and  green  . 125 

When,  before,  my  God  commanded  . . 224 

When  I  can  trust  my  all  with  God  . 131 


336  Index. 


PAGE 

When  our  purest  delights  are  nipt  in  the  blossom . 188 


When  tempests  toss  and  billows  roll . 284 

When  the  death-dews  dim  my  eyes . 275 

When  Thou  shalt  please  this  soul  to  enthrone . 239 

When  words  are  weak  and  foes  encount’ring  strong  .  .  .  .  87 

When  we  cannot  see  our  way . 100 

Whilst  Andrew,  as  a  fisher,  sought . 185 

Whither,  O  whither  should  I  fly . 189 

Who  keepeth  not  God’s  word,  yet  sailh . 41 

Why  dost  thou  talk  of  death,  laddie  ? .  50 

Why  doth  ambition  so  the  mind  distresse . '8 

Why  longed  Paul  to  be  dissolv’d . 245 

Without  the  smile  of  God  upon  the  soul . 228 

With  tearful  eyes  I  look  around  .  - . 199 

Ye  dainty  mosses,  lichens  gray . .  240 

Yes  !  our  Shepherd  leads  with  gentle  hand . 186 


